Found
by lori51
Summary: On vacation in Miami, the past catches up to the Malone family. J/S. Sequel to "Lost."
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Yes, this story does have crossover elements since it incorporates characters from CSI: Miami, but you may not entirely recognize them as they are complete with the changes that they have undergone during my stories "A Sea Change," "Armed and Dangerous" and "All For Her." You don't need to read those to understand this story, since it focuses on WAT characters. Also, this is a sequel to my story "Lost" and Jack and Samantha are now married with children. Since there is a time jump involved in my WAT stories, please take that into consideration if you also read my CSIM stories. I tried to mesh the timeframes the best I could. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

Thanks to those who have been nicely prompting me to hurry up with this story. It's on the dark and angsty side, and I'm not really sure that I like it, so it's been sitting here. If that's not your thing and you want to take a pass, I don't blame you. You've been warned. Well, here we go. Hope you like. And hopefully happier, nicer stories will follow.

**Author:** Lori51

**Disclaimer:** Any character you may recognize from your television is not mine.

**Category:** J/S

**Drama/Romance**

**Summary:** On vacation in Miami, the past catches up to the Malone family. Sequel to "Lost."

**Timeline:** One year after the events of "Lost"

**Prologue**

She stared at the pictures on her wall like she did every day, but today she had a smile on her face. It wouldn't be long now until she would no longer be alone with her photographs. She would have laughter and love in her house again, in her life again. She would have a child again after being alone for so long. It had been so long. Children changed everything. It wasn't just you anymore; you had to put their needs first. She was fully prepared to do that, this time. She hadn't been before, but she was now.

She had more than enough money squirreled away to officially retire. She would be out of the business forever, and she and her new son would be safe. Safe to live and thrive without the specter of her past hanging over them. She was leaving all of her life behind, starting over, starting fresh. A clean slate. This would be her last job, but then, it wasn't just a job to her. It would bring her family to her. It would be her life. That would make it the most important job she'd ever done.

She was ready to be a wife and mother again, and it would happen in a matter of days. Well, she would be a mother in a a matter of days; the wife part may take a little longer. But she had no doubt that it would happen. He would come, and they would be together, like they should have been a long time ago. She had worked to this end for months upon months without giving up or giving in. Finally, the day had come to set her plans into motion.

Her face softened as she looked at her precious photographs. She had taken shots of every possible angle, knew every expression that ever crossed his face, knew the way his eyes lit up with love when he looked at _her_, the way they'd done so briefly when he'd looked at her. They had been so happy; they could be still if it wasn't for _her_. Her fingers tracing his beloved face, her eyes closed in bliss remembering their time together, how he had held her and kissed her and made her feel like the only woman in the world.

She didn't blame him for going back to _her_, because if he hadn't then he wouldn't have his beautiful children, and she knew how much he loved them. But that was over now. It was her turn now, and nothing was going to stand in the way of the life and the dream and the family that she had always wanted, but never been able to have, until now. Nothing.

**One**

**A/N:** An M chapter, or about the first half, at least. It's marked with a break (ooooo) for those that want to skip that part.

"YES!" It was nice to not have to be quiet for a change. Samantha arched tightly against her husband as he thrust into her roughly. She moaned loudly, pulling sharply at the bonds that held her fast. He had handcuffed her to the bed and was now having his wicked way with her, and as unbelievably exciting and arousing as it had been at the time, right now she wanted to touch him so very badly.

Jack grinned down at her as she fought with the cuffs. Damn, she looking so unbelievably hot tied up like this and at his mercy. They hadn't done this in a while, and he had forgotten how very much fun it was.

Watching her becoming more absorbed in the struggle than in him, he backed off instantly, to her immediate displeasure. Her teeth closed over her bottom lip, biting back her protests, knowing he wanted to hear them. She watched him through heated eyes glowing with need, her chest heaving, muscles straining, fingers clutching the headboard until her knuckles turned white.

Grinning darkly, he rose from the bed, stalking slowly around it like a predator, looking for the next angle to strike from. She bit back her moan of frustration. Rarely did they have the time to play to this extent, and knowing him, he would make the most of it. As annoying as he could be sometimes, the man knew what he was doing. His eyes glittering, stroking her body, he finally settled in at the foot of the bed, looking at her steadily, then smirking and rising to his feet again. When he returned, she didn't see the silk scarf in his hands until it was over her eyes and he was tying it loosely. She took a deep breath, knowing she'd need it. Her husband was determined to drive her out of her mind with pleasure, and there was nothing she could do about it now but enjoy the ride.

She heard him walk away and in a minute heard him return, jolting as the first touch he bestowed on her body left her shocked with cold. Ice. Lovely. "I think we need to cool you off a little," came his low voice close to her ear as the ice cube moved over her chest in slow motion, followed closely by the warm delicious rasp of his very talented tongue. Her head dropped back in bliss, her body arching helplessly against her will. She felt his deep chuckle against her skin, shuddering with want as he moved his hot open mouth inexorably down her body in the wake of the icy cold trail, scorching her senses with his heat. He moved down her left hip, to its outer edge, then sliding to her inner thigh, at which point her breathing ceased altogether, only to continue down her thigh to the sole of her foot.

Looking up the long line of her body, he smiled at the tension on her face, moving up her other leg ever-so-slowly, watching her mouth drop open and her breath catch again as he abandoned the now-tiny sliver of ice to melt on her flat stomach and retrieved another to begin again at her right hip. She jerked at the touch, causing the little puddle to trickle down, and he swiftly caught it with his tongue, loving the way her muscles jumped under his touch. Still watching her face, he slid the new cube along her inner thigh, closer and closer to where he knew she wanted it, enjoying the sound of the moan she was unable to hold back as he used it to trace her heated flesh.

God, this man. She didn't know how much more of this she could take. He had her constantly on edge, and had for hours, building her up and backing off and building her up again, until she was so wound up she didn't think she could recite her own name under duress. The sharp sensation of cold right where she'd wanted him the most made her cry out, loudly, almost sobbing now with need. It melted quickly, and as his hot tongue began to trace its path and superheat every aching part of her, one carefully placed flick sent it inside while his hot mouth settled there and stayed. The pleasure was mind-numbing in its intensity, her throaty moans and whimpers falling on top of each other now as he was through making her wait and used every trick he knew to overwhelm her senses. Not being able to see him and anticipate his next move only heightened her pleasure. As his careful touches and precise strokes detonated her control, she couldn't keep herself from exploding, and didn't want to.

And then he didn't waste any time arching over her, wrapping her long legs around his waist as he took advantage of her shattered mindless state to fill her again, once more driving deeply, his hands all over her now as he brought her again and again, her cries of his name filling the room. He couldn't hold himself back this time and didn't even try, letting himself shatter deep inside her, holding her tightly to him and collapsing into her in the way he knew she liked the best.

They lay there for long, blissful moments, cheek to cheek, breathing in each other's air, until he managed to move enough to free her hands and then settle back down at her side, rubbing her wrists to get the feeling back. They'd bought soft cuffs for just this purpose; he couldn't stand taking the chance of rubbing her wrists raw no matter how much she enjoyed the process. When he slid the scarf off, he thought he could drown in the look in her eyes right now, half-lidded with satisfaction, sleepy and soft with love. "That was fun," she murmured, and he laughed, loving that he'd worn her out.

"Take a nap," he said with a loving kiss. "I'll go get the kids." She nodded, kissing him back languidly. "Are you still up for dinner out tonight?" he asked, and she smiled drowsily. "Okay. I'll wake you up in a few hours. Sleep."

ooooo

This was their first official family vacation together. Bea had just celebrated her first birthday, and they'd wanted to go away someplace to celebrate. They'd been here in Miami for a week now, playing tourists in a luxurious resort hotel and taking jaunts to all the local amusement parks during the day. Today was the first day they hadn't attempted to go anywhere, taking advantage of the hotel's top-of-the-line childcare center to steal a few hours for themselves. After a hot shower, Jack threw on his swim trunks and a T-shirt, grabbing the kids' suits and a stack of towels, and headed down to grab the kids and take them to the pool. He showed his ID, signed for the kids and they headed eagerly across the lobby together for a leisurely swim, Bea in his arms while Finn, the elder statesman on this trip, carefully held John Michael's hand and patiently listened to him yammer on about whatever had caught his interest. Jack smiled. Finn had taken to the role of big brother with relish. At nine, he was surprisingly mature and responsible, which was a good thing, as his younger brother was a hellion by all accounts.

They had a great time in the pool. Finn was a strong swimmer, and even John Michael was a little fish. The kid had no fear, throwing himself in the pool constantly, the deeper the better. Finn helped Jack keep an eye on him while Bea was content to wrap her arms around his neck and cling to his chest, floating happily. She was a lot more quiet and reserved, always watching and recording, and Jack was thankful for that. He could only handle one wild child like John Michael. But he was constantly laughing at his boy's antics. He kept things interesting. Jack had a bad moment when the kid climbed out of the pool and barreled around the slippery edge to go jump in again, and ran smack into the legs of a woman who was walking toward the lounge chairs.

Moving quickly, Jack climbed out himself and hurried over, almost reaching for the woman to keep her from falling, but not wanting to get her wet. "I'm so sorry," he said quickly, turning to his son with narrowed eyes. "What do you say, John Michael? You almost made this lady fall." His son immediately stuck out his lower lip balefully, sorrow written clearly in his big brown eyes. "I'm sowwy. I dint mean to make you fall."

The woman smiled at the repentant boy. "It's okay. I know you didn't mean to hurt anyone, but the ground is slippery; if you run, you might fall and crack your head. We wouldn't want you to get hurt." She looked at Jack then and smiled, noticing the little girl in his arms. "What a beautiful family."

He smiled automatically, his eyes darting to his son, obviously itching to jump back into the pool. "Thank you. I am sorry about that. I'll try to keep a better eye on him." He looked back at her quickly. She had large, dark sunglasses covering her eyes, and all that really registered was that she looked a lot like his wife.

"Don't worry about it," she told him. "No harm done." He nodded and followed after his son.

When they arrived back at their room, John Michael begged to be the one to wake Mommy up and Jack laughed and let him go. They went out to dinner and spent an enjoyable evening together, blissfully unaware that the woman from the pool had new pictures to put on her wall and admire tonight, yet another step of her carefully constructed plan having been completed.

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

Two

Samantha Malone sat on a towel near the beach, watching her daughter watch a little crab her brothers had brought her, smiling at the way the little girl had of patiently watching and taking everything in. Jack said she was just like her mother in that regard, but personally, she thought that Beatrice Jane had her beat. She was the sunniest child Samantha had ever seen. She rarely cried. She rarely showed displeasure with anything, content to watch and study and take in every new experience. Sitting peacefully for hours was usual for her.

A beach ball crashed down right in front of her, and Bea looked up with indignation before seeing her brother run up to her chasing the ball, and her face relaxed into a happy smile. "John Mika!" she exclaimed.

"Sorry, Bee!" he called, slowing to drop a quick kiss on her head before he kept running after the ball. Samantha smiled at her energetic son. She often thought he was exactly what Jack would've been if life hadn't gotten in the way. He was 100 percent full-throttle all the time, just as passionately happy as he was sometimes passionately sad, or angry. He did everything with that much passion. He grabbed the ball and ran back into the waves where Finn and Jack were waiting for him, and her breath caught at how gorgeous her husband looked right now, playing with his sons, how happy and alive. He was like a different person these days, and she knew she was too.

She thought that now he was the man he had been edging toward becoming before the damn car accident had happened and everything had been thrown so off-course. There was no doubt in her mind how much he loved her and their kids, their family, and she had never been so grateful that they had gotten a second chance together, after they had so ridiculously screwed up what they'd had together. Well, she had screwed it up. It hadn't been his fault; none of it had. A part of her was still a little amazed that they were here together now, and probably always would be. She didn't think she would ever feel like she deserved this amazing man, their beautiful children, and the life they had together now.

For his part, he didn't ever bring up the past. For a long time she had waited for it. Waited for what was, for her, the inevitable to happen: the other shoe to drop, the piano to fall on her head. She couldn't help it; it was what she knew, how her life had always been. She didn't think she would ever feel like she deserved to be this happy, this content with her life, and she accepted that she probably wouldn't, ever. But she had come far enough to let herself enjoy it. She'd learned that much. Life was short, and she was enjoying every minute of it.

Out of the blue, she felt her skin prickle, and turned her head sharply, assessing her surroundings with a practiced eye. This was the private beach only open to guests of the resort, and it was nearly deserted today. Nothing seemed out of place. There were a few people walking, couples hand in hand, and a few lone sunbathers that weren't paying her any mind. Still, every cell in her body was on full alert now. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched, but finally she told herself it was crazy. No one was paying any attention to her, or her family. They were safe. _Stop being paranoid_, she told herself. _We're safe._

But she still felt shaken, and was inordinately relieved when Bea grabbed her hand and jolted her back to reality. "Mama! Water!" she exclaimed, jumping to her feet and dragging her mother toward the ocean where her father and brothers were playing. Samantha laughed and allowed herself to be dragged. She let the little girl walk in to her ankles before she swept her up in her arms to carry her into the slightly deeper water where the guys were.

John Michael immediately bounced the beach ball off his sister's head, making her laugh. Samantha smiled when she got closer to her husband, who immediately wrapped an arm around her and pulled her in for a salty kiss. She deepened the kiss, suddenly needing him to know just how much she loved him. Did he?

When she finally pulled back, she hugged him close, burying her face in his neck for long moments. Oh, God, she had missed this, had missed him so much for all the years they'd been apart. Had never been so glad to be injured on the job before, as it had brought them back together again, this time for good. She was never letting him go again. It wasn't that life had suddenly become easy or simple in the last three years; it hadn't. They'd had their moments, and they'd had their ups and downs. But this time around, when life struck, they were in it together.

When she finally pulled apart at their children's insistence, Samantha knew she had tears in her eyes, and supposed that was why Jack was looking at her quizzically. "You know how much I love you, right?" she asked, unable to pinpoint the source of her disquiet, knowing only that it suddenly seemed vital that she make sure he did.

And somehow he understood. She would never know how he did that, how he always seemed to know what was going on in her head. Well, most of the time, at least. He just smiled. "I do," he told her, the gravity of the moment apparent in his tone.

"Good," she said, satisfied with that for the moment, and she was turning away to move toward the boys when he stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm.

"Hey," he said quietly. "I love you, too."

She smiled, beautifully, he thought. He didn't think anything could rival the beauty of one of his wife's genuine smiles. "I know."

Jack watched her as she carried Bea closer to the boys, who clamored over to greet both of them enthusiastically. He couldn't help the smile on his face. This was his life now, so very different from the cold lonely existence he'd become used to. He was close to all of his kids now. Couldn't imagine having it any other way. He'd missed so much of Kate and Hanna's childhoods and still regretted it, even though it had been as much his own fault as it had been Maria's. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

And he hadn't. He was married again, this time to the love of his life, and this time he wasn't letting anything come between them. They still had their disagreements, sure, but they were pretty much on the same page now, and he couldn't be more grateful for that. They had learned to talk to each other, to be there for each other, and he wouldn't make the mistakes he had in the past. What he had now was everything; his family was everything.

And even as Sam laughed with their kids, something was wrong. He could see it in the stiffness of her posture, the way she glanced around them regularly, the way she scanned up and down the beach. She was on alert. He walked closer to her through the shallow waves crashing at their feet, wrapping his arms around her from behind. "Hey," he told her, as quietly as he could given their surroundings. "What is it?" He knew better than to discount his wife's instincts. They were usually spot-on.

She shook her head, derisively, he thought, even as she leaned back into him. "I don't know. I got the feeling I was being watched, but I can't find anything out of place." Now he scanned the beach as well, and then his eyes met hers. It was a curse of their profession that they were over-protective of their children and each other. They knew all too well what people did to each other, for good reasons and bad ones. He knew that Sam was as paranoid as he sometimes still was when it came to their children's safety. He would never be anything but glad for it. "Do you want to go back to the resort?" he asked her, his eyes on hers to read the answer there.

"No. It's okay. We're safe," she said, but her eyes told him she hated this; she was tired of being this way. And his told her _it's okay to be paranoid. It's what keeps them safe._ He knew he never had to worry about her being less than vigilant when it came to their children's safety, and it was one of the main reasons he felt he could let down on worrying so much more than he used to.

Her smile thanked him for understanding her so well, and his answering grin said _always_.

ooooo

The anger racing through her system needed an outlet. The bitch had no right to him, and no right to have three beautiful, loving children. Not after what she'd done. She didn't deserve him, and she was about half a second from losing her temper and blowing her carefully executed plan before she was able to regain her control. _Patience,_ she told herself. The time will come. Very soon now. It wouldn't be long; she knew that. She _knew _it. But the waiting, especially now that the time for execution of all of her plans was so close at hand, was excruciating.

She wondered what had given her away when she saw Samantha go on high alert and begin to scan the length of the beach. But nothing had given her away, because those sharp eyes under the dark sunglasses kept scanning, not stopping on her position. _That's right, bitch,_ she thought, _be wary._ _It won't help you; I'll still take everything you have and leave you with nothing. _But she did like the idea that the bitch was worried, that she was jumping at shadows. She deserved that, all of it, for what she'd done.

Watching _her_ kiss him was physically painful, but she refused to move, refused to let herself react. She would make _her_ pay, for this, and for so much more. So she stayed in character, and continued to watch. She saw when she must have told him of her worry, because his sharp eyes scanned the beach, missing nothing. But he missed her, because he wasn't looking for her. She was as insignificant to him as she'd been so many years ago. But that was going to change, very soon. He wouldn't find her until she was ready for him to find her.

He was good; she'd give him that. But she was better.

ooooo

She was running, unable to stop, unable to catch her breath. In the back of her mind she was sure that she was too late. And didn't that serve her right? So many times she'd failed. So many times she hadn't been fast enough. Now it would be too late to save her own child.

And damn it, she didn't have a choice. She had to be good enough this time; she had to. If anything happened to Bea… if anything happened to her beautiful happy daughter, she wouldn't be able to take it.

Shots rang out and she froze. Damn it, she didn't have her gun. Why the hell didn't she have her gun?

"Sam, wake up. Baby, wake up. It's just a dream." Samantha sat up in bed, her heart pounding. She was soaked in sweat, her eyes haunted, her breath coming in harsh bursts as she looked at him.

He pulled her into his arms without hesitation, now that she was awake and he knew she wasn't going to deck him, and she came willingly. It was progress. She settled heavily against his chest, closed her eyes, and let herself be soothed. Even as sweaty and clammy as she felt right now, the warmth and strength of his body felt so good. Jack held her close, brushing her hair off of her forehead, stroking it softly, calming her with his low, deep voice. "Hey, it's okay." If she was the Jack Whisperer, as Danny maintained, then he had to be the Samantha Whisperer. No one else had the effect on her that he did. She didn't apologize, like she once would have, just accepted it for what it was, soaking in the feelings that only he could give her, feeling safe and loved as her racing heart began to slow.

"You wanna talk about it?" he asked her gently, and when she shook her head, it was okay.

"Later," she told him shakily, and he accepted that, kissing the top of her head, cradling her to his chest like she was precious to him, and in that moment she knew that she was. Only Jack could make her feel better after that horrendous nightmare.

"Come on, let's get a shower," he told her, moving her gently with him to the edge of the bed. Standing, she turned into his arms, burying her face in his neck and holding him close.

"Thank you," she told him.

"For what, baby?" he asked her, a smile in his voice.

"For being here," was her answer.

"Always" was his.

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

Three

The next day dawned humid and overcast, and after a lazy morning of sleeping in and watching movies in their room, Finn and John Michael begged to go to the daycare just so they'd have other kids to play with. Looking at his wife with a devilish smirk, Jack shrugged his shoulders. "What do you think, Mom? Think we can find something to do with ourselves for the afternoon?"

Reading his mind and liking very much where it was going, she smirked back. "Oh, I think so, Daddy." But she had to tease him a little. "There are a couple little shops I was thinking about hitting…"

Jack rolled his eyes. He really hoped she was kidding. His idea of the ideal vacation day without kids was not hauling her bags while she hunted for new shoes. And then he shrugged. As long as he had her naked in his bed at some point, he didn't much care. "And what about you, sweetheart?" he asked his daughter. "You wanna go shopping with Mommy and Daddy or go play with the kids?" Like he didn't already know what the answer would be. Her eyes lit up and she clapped her hands. "Kids!"

He laughed and cupped her cheeks to kiss her nose. "Kids it is," he told her. If John Michael was a mini him, Bea was a miniature version of his wife, down to her eyes and the most minuscule expressions that crossed her face. She was pure Sam.

As it turned out, there was shopping involved, but it was his favorite kind of shopping, because her purchases would be worn only for him, in the privacy of their bedroom. After lunch, they'd gone back to their room for their own personal adult-rated fashion show, the results of which he knew he'd be carrying around on his skin for days. Lying beside her in the big bed, spent, satisfied and trying to catch his breath, Jack marveled once again about how far his life had come, at a point when he'd thought it was pretty much over. Starting over with Samantha Spade had been the best thing he'd ever done. He turned his head to look at her, just because he could. She looked beautiful like this, flushed and worn out from their loving.

Her eyes were luminous as they lit on him, so full of love that it was impossible to miss. And then her expression turned sheepish when she saw the marks she'd left on his skin. "Oh, God, I'm sorry!" she told him, mortified, and it made him grin.

"I'm not. It felt amazing." As many times as they'd been together, he knew that he wouldn't ever get used to the way she made him feel, like he was the only man in the world. It never got old.

And that soft light was back in her eyes as she moved closer to him, her eyes never leaving his. Wordlessly, she kissed the marks she'd left on his neck, soothing them with her soft textured tongue, and his eyes closed in bliss as he felt his body respond, incredibly, he thought. His reactions to her always surprised him.

Samantha grinned as she moved on to the teeth marks she'd left in his shoulder and chest as he'd driven her out of her mind with pleasure. She watched his face as she kissed them, then licked over them with feather-light precision, loving his responses to her and how beautifully they showed all over his face. For all his grumbling that he was an old man and couldn't keep up with her, she certainly had no complaints about his stamina. His eyes opened wide as he felt her mouth move out of the range of the marks she'd left on his skin and on to the evidence just how much he'd been affected by her TLC, and she grinned again.

Jack strode into the daycare to get the kids, the smile that his wife and this day had put on his face still in evidence. He greeted the young woman at the counter and showed his ID, taking the clipboard and flipping to the Ms to find his kids' names. His blood seemed to freeze in his veins when he saw the signature on the page leap out at him. It was his wife's signature; he'd probably seen it a thousand times. He would swear that it was hers. It was on the line next to John Michael's name, under "Sign Out," while the boxes next to Finn's and Bea's names were blank. He flipped back to the front, noting the date. It was correct. It was today's date. He looked up at the girl, trying to calm his heart that was currently trying to catapult itself out of his chest. Every warning bell in his head was going off right now.

"Why is there a signature here? My kids haven't been signed out yet."

The girl frowned, looking at the sheet. "Oh yes, I remember. It was about an hour ago. Your wife came in and signed John Michael out. Showed me her driver's license and everything. I remember thinking it was strange that she was only taking him, and I asked her about it. Said she was taking him out for a little one-on-one time and she'd be back soon for the others."

He could only stare, filled with dread. "My wife didn't sign our son out," he said slowly. "I've been with her all day. I just left her in our room."

Now the blood began to drain from her face. "I know it was your wife. I work this shift every day. I've seen her many times."

He was already dialing. "Sam, can you please come down to the daycare? Thank you." He pocketed his phone. "Please check to see if my son is here. If he isn't, I'll need to see your manager and your security video." Damn it, he didn't have his badge on him, but he did have his ID, and showed it to her. "I'm an FBI agent." Pale, she hurried through the gate. She was back with her manager just as Samantha walked through the door, her confusion written plainly on her face.

"What's wrong?" she asked, knowing the look on his face well. It was the look he had when he was about to punch something. "Jack?"

He took a breath and showed her the clipboard, watching as she paled instantly. "That… it looks like my signature, but it isn't. I haven't been here all day today." Her eyes met his. "What's going on?" But she already knew.

"John Michael was signed out today, about an hour ago, by someone who looked like you, had an ID saying she was you and using your signature." She thought her heart might have stopped. It certainly skipped a few beats before it started up again, so hard and fast she thought it might explode. "That's… that's impossible."

Her first thought was Brian, but that didn't make any sense. Brian hadn't made an attempt to see Finn in over three years, and if he was going to take someone, it would be Finn. Finn was his biological child. There would be no reason for him to take John Michael. He wasn't Brian's. The only reason would be to hurt her and Jack, and there was no way he'd go to all that trouble for it. That would involve effort, time and planning, none of which were his strong suits. He didn't have it in him.

"Do we know anyone here?" she asked him quietly. They both knew they needed to report it and get someone working on finding their son as soon as possible. They needed to get an Amber Alert out. Now.

He shook his head. "No." So many of the agents he had worked with over the years had already retired. And a connection hit him. "But I know Mac Taylor in the crime lab has friends here." He was already dialing, turning to talk to Mac in New York while Samantha went to talk to the manager.

Minutes later, Jack was behind her. "Mac called his friends in the crime lab. They're on their way." Samantha took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She had already established that the manager preferred to turn the information over to the authorities, and it was good they were already on their way. She signed for Finn and Bea and went through the gate to go back and get them, squeezing her husband's arm as she passed, hoping he could read the message in her eyes. They would get through this, together.

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

Four

Disclaimer: WAT and CSIM characters are not mine.

It seemed like only minutes had passed when the doors were opening and Mac's friends from the crime lab came in to introduce themselves. The man was tall and dressed in a suit, his badge at his hip, with striking blue eyes and bright red hair. The woman was a pretty blonde in a summer-weight suit, and Jack could tell by their body language both that they were a couple, and that they were very good at what they did. Their sharp eyes missed nothing. The man walked up to Jack, shaking his hand warmly. He must be a dad, Jack thought numbly. Pain for his situation, even though they'd never met, was there in his eyes. "Jack. My name is Lieutenant Horatio Caine. This is my wife, Lieutenant Calleigh Caine. Mac called us. We're at your service."

Jack smiled wanly. "Thank you for coming so quickly," he said, barely able to get the words out past the lump in his throat. It really sucked being on this end of things and having to rely on others. He would be a whole lot happier if he could run the case as he saw fit, but barring that, the second best thing was to have someone on the case he knew he could trust to do the job right. "Jack Malone. My wife, Samantha, went back to get our other children. We're both with the FBI in New York, Missing Persons. We've been here for a week on vacation."

He turned to shake the blonde's hand. "Calleigh Caine. It's nice to meet you, but I'm sorry it has to be under these circumstances." She spoke with a light Southern drawl, and then she looked up at her husband, meaning being transferred instantly as he turned on his heel with a nod and approached the desk, flashing his badge.

At that moment, Samantha came back down the hallway, Bea on her hip and Finn's hand held tightly in hers. Her eyes met his, the bleakness in them painful to see. Their son wasn't here. He knew she had already checked. Jack moved quickly and opened the child-proof gate for them. "Sam, this is Lieutenant Calleigh Caine from the crime lab. Her husband, Lieutenant Horatio Caine, is talking to the employees now."

Samantha shook the woman's hand. She looked compassionate and capable, although Mac Taylor vouching for her was really enough for her. "Samantha Malone. Thank you so much for coming so quickly."

Calleigh smiled then, a genuine smile. "You're welcome. Listen, I'd like for you to come back with us to the lab, and I'd like you your family to stay at our house until this is over. Our place is a fortress, and we can protect you and your kids better there. Until we know what we're dealing with, it would be better for everyone."

Samantha nodded mutely. It did make sense. But this woman didn't even know her. It was hard to wrap her mind around. Calleigh must have sensed the direction of her thoughts again because she smiled again. "Honey, any friends of Mac Taylor are friends of ours. Just think of it as Southern hospitality. With guns."

Samantha grinned at her then, albeit halfheartedly. "Okay, I… I don't know what to say. I…"

Calleigh put a hand on her arm. "I can't even imagine what you're going through. But we've had some scares with our kids, and there's nothing worse in the world. We want to help, Samantha. We _will_ find your little boy. Besides," she said with a shrug. "If you're with Horatio and I then you can help. I doubt the FBI will let you anywhere near the case."

Samantha smiled again, feeling unbelievably lucky to have this woman on her side. And relieved when she turned her sharp green-eyed focus on Bea and she was out of the spotlight. "And who is this gorgeous little angel?" she asked exaggeratedly, making Bea smile coquettishly. Samantha laughed. "This is our little Bee…" she gulped. It was what John Michael called her. _Oh God, John Michael._ If anything happened to him, she would never recover. She knew it. Her boy was his father down to his toes. She blinked back tears, and tried to smile. "Beatrice Jane."

"Mawone," Bea corrected primly, with an arch look that Jack said she'd gotten from her mother. "Beatwice Jane Ma_wone_." Calleigh giggled and wiggled her fingers. "Aren't you just too adorable? Wanna come to Auntie Calleigh, pretty girl?" Bea laughed and went happily into Calleigh's arms, and Sam realized for the first time that Finn was still standing quietly at her side, his eyes wide and solemn. She turned to him and folded him in her arms. Hugging him, she thought he was comforting her more than she was comforting him.

Finally, he pulled back to look into her eyes. "Who would take John Michael, Mom?"

"I don't know, baby, but we're gonna find him." She turned back to Calleigh and Bea. "This is my son, Finn." His name had been changed legally to Malone when Jack had adopted him years ago, but she didn't bring it up right now. She was too flustered to think about anything but John Michael. _Oh, God._

The door opened and Eric Delko strode in, case in hand, all cool professionalism. Calleigh beamed. "Thanks for coming, Eric. This is Samantha Malone. Her husband, Jack, is with Horatio." Eric smiled and shook Samantha's hand. "We'll get him back, Mrs. Malone," he said with quiet conviction, and then turned to process the scene.

"He's the best," Calleigh said quietly. "He'll find anything there is to find." But they had no idea who or what they were dealing with. She would put her team up against anyone, and had, many times, but she knew it couldn't happen soon enough for the woman next to her who was right now in hell.

Horatio and Jack approached them. "I've got the camera footage. I'd like all of you with us at the lab. We need to take the threat seriously. All of you are under our protection until this person-or people-are found." Jack and Samantha nodded, as he moved to her side and wrapped his arm around her, a silent question in his eyes. He could see the answer there. She was holding it together, barely, because she had to. He felt the same. "All right then, let's go. We'll all fit in the Hummer."

Jack took Bea into his arms as they walked through the lobby and into the parking lot. All their things were still up in their room, but that didn't matter now. All that mattered was getting John Michael home safely. Anything else could wait.

ooooo

It hadn't been too hard to get the boy to calm down and trust her. She'd told him she was his mom's sister, Charlene, but she told him he could call her Aunt Charlie. He'd grudgingly accepted that, because she did look a lot like his mom. "You were at the pool," he said suddenly, and Clea laughed with delight at his quick mind.

"That's right, honey, I was there to see your mommy."

He had nodded, looking around. "Where's Mommy?"

"Oh, we'll see her later, but for now, we're gonna go have some fun. Would you like to go see some boats?" She'd done her research. She knew the boy was captivated right now with the boats in Miami, and she wasn't disappointed when his eyes lit up with excitement. "Yes! Please," he added quickly. "I love boats!" She'd just laughed, thinking that this was so much easier than she'd thought it would be, but really, she was relieved that she didn't have to drug the boy. Even though she had carefully researched the amount needed to knock out someone of his approximate weight, she didn't want to take the chance that she'd accidentally hurt him. She_ loved _him; she'd never hurt him.

And why wouldn't he be more trusting than his father, even with his sharp mind? He had been raised with love and care; Clea couldn't doubt that. It was in his nature to trust. He hadn't known any different in his short young life, and Clea was beyond glad for it. He would never know any different, she vowed. She would take care of him, always. And when his father joined him, they would give him the family he deserved, and they would all be together. Forever. She smiled and buckled him into the car seat she'd put into her cute little convertible just for him, handing him the wrapped present she'd brought.

As she slid behind the wheel, sliding her glasses over her face and looking into the rear view mirror, she saw his eyes light up with glee at the binoculars she'd bought him, complete with a digital camera so he could record everything he saw. "For the boats!" he crowed. "Lots of pictures! Thanks, Aunt Charlie!" Of course he noticed it instantly, she thought with pride. She would have her work cut out for her to keep up with this very bright boy, she realized, and relished every moment. They were going to have such fun together! She really couldn't wait.

TBC...


	5. Chapter 5

Five

Disclaimer: WAT and CSIM characters are not mine.

With Bea sleeping soundly in the stroller and Finn ensconced comfortably in Horatio's office with his ubiquitous iPad, Jack and Samantha headed to the lab with Horatio and Calleigh. The DVD had been delivered to Ryan Wolfe, and he had just texted that he had found something they needed to see.

Together they stared at the video, watching in silence as a woman who looked a lot like Samantha—at least, from a distance—swept in with a smile, signed the log, let herself through the child-proof gate like she'd done it a thousand times, and walked out with their son, her hand in his. Jack recognized her instantly, even without the sunglasses, as the woman from the pool. As she passed the camera, she looked down at the boy, and that was when Jack saw it. "Freeze it there," he said abruptly. The still image came up on the screen, and Samantha's heart stopped. The woman's face was in profile, and it clearly wasn't her. Her son's face was in profile as well, and the look on his face was pure Jack. He didn't know her and he didn't trust her. He was arguing.

"Do either of you know her?" Calleigh Caine asked quietly. They both shook their heads negatively at once, and then Jack looked closer, and caught his breath quickly. It was the woman John Michael had bumped into at the pool, but there was something about her eyes… His heart stopped as recognition dawned. _No, no, no, no…_ and then he blanched and shut his eyes and let himself slump into a chair, his head in his hands.

Samantha picked up on it immediately. "Who is she, Jack?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.

His eyes opened slowly, and he scrubbed his hand across his face. "Clea… um… Clea something. Clea… Kirkpatrick, I think. I met her in a bar. Years ago." He tried to think if there had been any contact… he knew she had tried calling him a couple times and he had never answered. He hadn't wanted to see her again. It had been one night. He had just needed one night, one petty outlet for revenge that he wouldn't ever even tell her about, and then he was okay. Well, maybe not _okay_, but what had passed for okay for him in those days. Acceptance, at the very least.

He felt his wife's eyes burning into him, and he lifted his head, trying hard to keep the anger that welled up in him now at the thought of that very dark time in his life out of his voice. "It was one night, Sam. You had just gone back to Brian. I was hurt, damn it! I was angry. It was _one night_. I never saw her again, never talked to her again." His eyes burned into hers. "She _wasn't you_."

She saw the truth in his eyes, but it wasn't enough to tamp down the rage that welled inside her. "Well, she obviously took it to mean more than that. She. Has. Our. Son." She didn't bother to keep the anger out of her own voice.

Horatio Caine had left their side and was now back. "We have a problem. Clea Kirkpatrick has seventeen known aliases. She's a professional grifter, Jack. If she has your son, I think it's pretty safe to say you either give her what she wants or it's gonna be a while before we find your son."

"We haven't been contacted." He checked his phone to be sure. No calls. He didn't have to check his contact list to know that her number wouldn't be there. He hadn't cared enough about her to save it. He looked at the screen again. "She didn't look like that then. She didn't look anything like Sam." Somehow that was an important distinction to make right now.

Ryan Wolfe typed into a computer, and brought up driver's license photos for all of her various aliases from over thirty states. Jack pointed to one. She was a brunette with short layered hair. "She looked like that." Anger simmered while they talked around him.

Horatio Caine looked at him, which was good because no one else was. "Why don't you and your wife go check out of your hotel? I think it would be best if all of you were at our house. We can keep a better eye on your other kids as well."

Samantha spoke up quickly. "John Michael is the spitting image of his father. If she's obsessed with Jack, he's the only one she wants." Jack looked at her quickly in horror, but it was a valid point. How deep did this woman's obsession go? Did she just want his son or did she want him as well? Would she be willing to trade him for his son? Or was his son the lure to get him where she wanted him? Because he would give himself up gladly. Samantha had to know that.

She didn't look at him on the drive to their hotel, or as they packed up to leave what had been an idyllic vacation for all of them. It was tainted now. When they were ready to leave, she brushed past him in a hurry to get out the door. She wasn't even speaking to him right now, she was so angry, and they needed a united front to get through this.

"Sam." He stopped and waited for her to look at him. She didn't want to. She was too angry, too filled with rage right now. Directed at him. She knew herself too well. She knew nothing good could come out of communicating with him right now. For their sakes—for their family's sakes—it was best if she just walked away. She was unarmed at the moment, but she still thought she could do him serious bodily harm right now, and in the long run, that would be bad.

"Are we okay?"

She stared at him. Just stopped and stared. She had no words. She couldn't even articulate an answer. She just stood and stared, incredulously, and finally took a deep breath. "No. No, Jack, we're _not_ okay," she said, dangerously quietly. "Honestly, I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive you for this. I just don't know."

Now Jack stopped and stared. His own incredulity marred his features, his mouth literally dropping open in shock, unable to believe what he'd heard. And then his brows drew together, ominously, anger slowly filling every cell in his body until he literally had to clench his fists at his sides to keep them from doing something that he would probably regret them doing at some point far from today. He had never hit a woman, and he wasn't going to start with his wife, but the emotions she had just stirred up, ones that he'd thought were buried deeply enough that he'd never see them again, ignited in him. "No," he said just as quietly, the harshness of his tone shocking them both.

"Not this time." He had accepted the responsibility for the things he had done, but he wouldn't do it this time. Not for this. He stalked toward her until his face was an inch from hers. "I won't take the responsibility for this. Not all of it, because this is on _you_. This is because _you_ threw us away._ You_ dropped the ball, Sam. We were _together_, damn it. I would _never_ have cheated on you. I would have _never _even _looked _at anyone else. I never did. Not _once_. You were the one who dropped _me_. You were the one who took in that… that… that_ bum_ into your house, into your bed… _**WHEN WE WERE SUPPOSED TO BE TOGETHER**_!"

He had never before raised his voice with her, not like this, and never before used the tone he was using now. Both shocked her as those seven words rang in her ears, the silence that followed them just as deafening.

He stopped and took a deep breath, as Samantha felt all of the blood drain out of her face. All the times he had told her he understood… all the times he told her he forgave her… was this how he really felt? _All this time_? "I didn't _cheat_ on you," she said in a stunned voice. Was that what he thought?

"_You_ were the one who dropped the ball. On what we had. On _us_. I _never_ moved on. I was honest enough not to start something that I knew wouldn't work, with anyone else, because I still loved you too much to give that much to anyone else."

She opened her mouth to retort, fury roiling as her mind flashed to the photo on the screen, then closed it again. She had so many things to say that she couldn't pick just one. Seeing that woman on the screen posing as her just walk in and walk out with their son—_her son_—had broken something inside her. All she could think of now was that _he_ had brought her into their lives. He had _given_ her their son.

"It was _one _night, Sam. _One night_. It wasn't a relationship. We didn't go out. We didn't live together. It was one night of wallowing in my own self-pity because I couldn't have you. And I told you: she didn't look like that then. She _didn't_." He hadn't been trying to replace her. She had to know that. There was no replacing her in his life, and all the different things she'd come to mean to him over the years. He had known better, even then, even to try.

Finally he stepped away from her, turning away, letting himself breath again. "So you know what? You can tell yourself whatever the hell you want to. You can tell yourself that this is my fault, that we wouldn't be here having this conversation if it wasn't for me and my mistake. But we also wouldn't be having this conversation if it wasn't for you, and _your_ mistake, that I've fucking bent over _backward_ to forgive you for." _Hadn't he?_

Finally he was able to look at her again, and sighed, seeing the tears stream down her face. God, he hated this. "I love you, Sam. I always will. And if you can't forgive me for this, then I can certainly understand that. If, when this is over, you want a divorce, I won't fight you. But we share the blame for this. That isn't going to change no matter what any damn piece of paper says. I don't know how in the hell we can get through this except for together. That's what I want. You do what you have to do. I'll be at the Caines'."He turned on his heel and walked out the door, and she was alone.

Staring after him, her expression still hard, his wife made no move to follow him.

A/N: *ducks* What, you didn't think that whole Brian thing was going to magically disappear, did you? It'll get better, I promise.

TBC...


	6. Chapter 6

Six

Calleigh and Horatio shared a glance when Jack Malone told them of his plan. They didn't like it, but he was right: it was the best one they had so far. "Samantha is on board with this?" Horatio finally asked, and the tone of his voice made his wife bite back a smile. She knew he was thinking that his own wife would shoot him first before she let him do something like this alone. He'd be right.

Jack looked at them sharply. "She doesn't know. She blames me for this. For all I know, she's at a laywer's right now having divorce papers drawn up." He sighed, glancing in the direction of the upstairs bedroom where his son and daughter were even now sleeping soundly. He didn't see that he had a choice. He had to bring back their son, or die trying.

"Talk to her first," Horatio urged, holding his wife's hand tightly in his. He understood what the man was saying. He was in an impossible position. But he didn't like this, and he liked it even less that his wife wasn't in on the planning stages.

Jack sighed, running his hands through his hair. "I tried. She knows where I am. She doesn't want to be where I am right now. She blames me for this. I can't say as I blame her, but I'm not accepting the full responsibility for this. There's no way I could have predicted that this would happen, that the one time I was weak, this would be the outcome."

He looked back at the two cops who had dropped everything for them, who had opened their home to them when they'd needed it. It was clear to see that they were an inseparable unit, like he'd once thought he and Sam were. He knew differently now. He'd found out the hard way, twice now, that they weren't as solid as he'd thought they were, and now he guessed they would never be. It was an ache in his chest, knowing that even if his Hail Mary worked, even if he was able to bring their son home, the idyllic life together they had known was over. "I need to do this."

Calleigh spoke softly, breaking through his bleak thoughts. "Jack, just think this over, please. We will support you. You know that. I think there's a very good chance this could work. There's also a very good chance she'll kill you and your son outright. Don't do this without making things right with Samantha. Make her understand."

But the hope of that happening was dead in him now; both of them could see it in his eyes. As the evening had worn on with no sign of Samantha, what hope he'd held had died. The only thing that lived in him now was the determination to make things right, or die trying.

"Can we set it up for tomorrow?" he asked. Horatio and Calleigh looked at each other again. It was doable. They could get surveillance set up in that amount of time, and get him wired and prepared. And if they were going to do this, they needed to get the wheels in motion before anyone could object and shut it down. As one they nodded, turning to him and nodding grimly. "Okay, then that's it. I go in tomorrow. If she sees me before then, I'll tell her. If not, then I'll see her again when I have our boy back, or not at all." He held their eyes. "Thank you both, for everything you've done."

"You're welcome, Jack," Horatio told him quietly. They watched him walk away, his shoulders slumping and then straightening as he went to go watch his daughter and his son sleep, knowing that in his own way, he was going to be telling them goodbye.

Later, when his own kids were in bed, Horatio Caine found Jack out on the deck, watching the ocean, and sighed, going back into the house to retrieve a bottle and two glasses. Lord knew he'd done the same thing often enough. Coming through the French doors, he sat down at the table and poured. Jack looked at him and gave a little half-smile, sitting down hard. "Is it that obvious?"

Horatio tilted his head. "I've been through things like this enough times." He took a long, slow drink. "It's not easy, doing what we do and having a family. There's a target on our backs that doesn't ever go away. Always a line of people who don't mind using those we love to hurt us." Seeing Jack's look, his gaze turned faraway and dark, focused now over the seething waves. "My daughter was targeted a few years ago, by the kid of someone I put away. She was nearly raped. My wife—before Calleigh—was murdered, years ago." His gaze returned to the man sitting next to him, caught in his own version of hell. "It never stops, but neither do we, my friend. We never close. We'll get these bastards, and we'll get your son back."

Jack stared out across the waves now, finding them oddly soothing. "It was so much easier when I had nothing to lose. Now… it's too much. And this time… it feels too much like this is all my fault."

"It _isn't_ your fault, and it _wouldn't be easier_ if you had nothing to lose. You'd just be alone." If he sounded like he knew what he was talking about on the subject, it was because he did. "You didn't lead this woman on, Jack. You were honest with her about what it was. She was the one who went too far. She's not sane, Jack. You can't reason with someone like that." It was his worry, in all of this, that once she had Jack, both of them would be dead. "Don't do this tomorrow," he said spontaneously, with nothing but a gut feeling to back up why he voiced it at all. "At least talk to your wife first."

Jack looked at him sharply. "You don't know her. In her mind, I caused this. I have to fix it. She'll never forgive me otherwise."

Horatio smiled thinly. "Yeah, I think I do know her. From what I understand, she's a whole lot like my wife. You don't have to get yourself killed to prove you love her, Jack, and your family. Trust me when I say that she'll never forgive you if you do. If you do this without talking to her first, she'll hate you for it. Trust her in this. I'm not saying not to do it, just to have her in on it."

Jack shook his head, taking another drink and staring into his glass, seeing her flashing eyes in his mind. "It's better this way."

Horatio sighed, seeing himself once upon a time, before Cal had talked some sense into him and broken down all of his walls. "We'll back you up, my friend. And when this is all over, we'll sit out here again and share a meal with our families, and celebrate."

Jack lifted his glass in a mock salute. He really wished that was in his future, but right now, he had the feeling that he was never going to see his wife again.

Sleep didn't come. Samantha lay in their cold, empty bed, telling herself that they just needed time. They would get through this. They had to. Because she knew he was right; the only way they would be able to make it through this was together. She would give him his space tonight, knowing that he and Finn and Bea were safe at the Caines' house. First thing tomorrow morning, she would go to him, and tell him that he was right.

ooooo

Clea sat on the chair beside the bright red race car bed and watched her new son sleep. It was too bad they hadn't had any boat beds, but he'd been happy with this one. So excited, so joyous with everything in life. In that he reminded her of Beau. Closing her eyes tightly against the sudden onslaught of pain in her chest, she saw her little boy in her mind's eye and spent a long moment there with him in the past, reveling in the time they had spent together. He had been such a joy. Such a source of constant perpetual sunlight. She knew she would never have him back. This boy wasn't Beau. She knew that. But opening her eyes and gazing on his precious features, she knew that she could have something just as good in her life after so long.

She let her mind drift in the peaceful darkness to his father. She had been at the bar for work, scouting her latest mark when she'd seen him. He'd caught her eye immediately. His weariness had called to her. She understood it; she could feel it. She knew that she spoke his language. He'd been coming in here every night this week, always alone, always late at night, and she could feel the impact of his broken heart as strongly as if it'd been sitting on the table next to him. He didn't look like he'd slept in weeks, and she hadn't been surprised when she did her research on him after the second time she'd seen him to find that he was a cop. FBI. Missing persons. It didn't bother her. On the contrary, it excited her. He would have a quick mind and quicker reflexes. He would be a much more fitting adversary than she'd faced in a while. It would be so nice to have a challenge again. But she hadn't wanted him as an adversary, had she? She'd wanted him, as a man, in her life, in her bed.

On the fifth night he'd let himself get far drunker than usual, and when she'd allowed himself to approach him, was surprised to find him more receptive to her advances than he'd been on any night previously. His girlfriend had left him to go back to her asshole ex, and Clea was unreasonable vexed on his account. He was a good man. Anyone could see that. He deserved to be happy. He didn't protest too much when she offered to drive him home, and when she turned to him and kissed him, lightly, just a soft exploratory brush of her lips on his, he had reached for her and returned the kiss hungrily.

Even intoxicated as he was, he'd made it the most incredible night of her life. They had gone to her place after that unbelievably hot first kiss in the parking lot, and she didn't regret a moment of it. The next morning, though, when she woke up, he was gone. No note, no nothing. She had called him a few times with no response, and had eventually gone back to work and gotten on with her life. She'd kept tabs on him, though, and knew when he'd gotten married, knew when he'd become a father again. So many times she'd wanted to reach out to him again, but the time had never been right. When she'd come across Samantha Malone and her children on a shopping trip purely by coincidence, it had seemed like the hand of fate. The information she'd been gifted through the woman's phone had been the catalyst to make all of the pieces of what would become a careful and complex plan come falling into place.

It had been seeing Jack's son for the first time there in the store in person that had done it for her. He was such a miniature replica of his father that she had only been able to stand and stare at him. He was so beautiful, so handsome, so smart and mischievous and full of life. The compulsion to know him, to have him a permanent part of her life, simply wouldn't go away. As she watched his even peaceful breathing now, she knew that everything would fall into place for her now. Her life was truly looking up.

ooooo

Jack sat on the edge of the bed in the Caines' guest room. He'd been putting this off all night but he knew he couldn't go through with this without calling his girls. He'd deliberately put it off until he'd had some news, but there was no way he could put it off any longer. In a few short hours he would be cut off from them for the forseeable future, and he needed them to know what he was doing, and why.

Hanna answered on the first ring. "Dad, hi! How's Florida?"

Jack swallowed hard. He didn't know how in the hell he was going to get through this. He took a deep breath. "Hanna, honey, there's something I have to tell you."

TBC...


	7. Chapter 7

Seven

Dawn found Jack at the lab, gearing up to find his son. Calleigh, Ryan, Eric and Walter watched him grimly, knowing that this may very well be the last time they saw him alive. He was wired, bugged with GPS chips every way they knew how, even under his skin, disguised as a nick from a fishing mishap on his thigh; that would be his story and he was sticking to it. He hoped it wouldn't be an issue, hoped she'd never get to see it, but he knew that he'd do what he had to, to get his son back.

As ready as he'd ever be, he slipped off his wedding ring, handing it gravely to Calleigh Caine. He'd need to be without it to substantiate his story, that he had left his wife, seen the error of his ways, and had gone to Clea to start a new life with her, and his—their—son. He hadn't slept much last night, instead using his time to practice his speech in the mirror so that he wouldn't gag on the words when the time came. He would be either believable—believed—or he would be dead. Only one of them guaranteed a safe outcome for his son, so only one was an option for him.

When he walked out of the lab to start his search, Calleigh Caine closed her eyes, leaning heavily against the nearest wall. Closing her fingers around the gold ring, she said a prayer that this would work, and this family would be back together again soon—all of them.

It was still dark when Samantha woke from a fitful sleep. His expression was burned into her mind's eye, and her only thought now was to get to him, and tell him that they were in this together, _always,_ for as long as it took. She was in the rental car and driving to the Caines' house before the sun rose, and then her heart fell as she looked into Horatio Caine's eyes on the man's front porch. She didn't have to be told that she was too late. Her husband was already gone.

But she had to say the words anyway. "Good morning," she said haltingly. "I… I need to speak to my husband, Lieutenant Caine."

Horatio sighed. These two reminded him so much of himself and Calleigh. It was easy to see they loved each other very much but they had a lot to work through. Their path wasn't an easy one, and it would be a lot easier to walk together than separately. He opened the door wider. "Please call me Horatio. Come in, Samantha."

He looked at her worriedly. "Cal took Jack to the lab a couple hours ago. He's going undercover to find your son. They bugged him in every way imaginable, but he's pretty much on his own out there now." His look was apologetic even though this wasn't his fault. Damn, he wished the man had listened to him and waited to talk to his wife. His gaze softened. "I tried to get him to wait to talk with you, but he didn't want to wait. He wanted to get out there and find your boy."

The woman opened her mouth but was unable to find the words, and Horatio sighed and took her arm, leading her to the kitchen. "Come on. I've got the coffee made." It was going to be a long day.

ooooo

Her thoughts swirled incoherently even as she sat in the Caines' living room, outwardly calm, talking with Calleigh and Horatio and the kids. So many years of history she had with Jack Malone, and somehow they had still ended up here. It didn't seem possible, and yet it did; it _was_, because even after as hard as they'd tried to talk to each other, to communicate and make it right this time, it obviously wasn't.

So many missed chances. So many lost opportunities, for no better reason than they didn't talk to each other about what really mattered, and didn't listen to each other about what was truly important.

Her heart was breaking now, knowing that he had held this within him for so long. She'd had no idea. She'd been so happy, and she'd thought he was as well. He'd been like a different person, a different man in their new life together, as a family. To think that he had never trusted her... that during all the time they had spent together... all that they had meant to each other... and it all came down to this.

All the times he'd said he understood, and forgiven her for her own self-destructive stupidity that had cost them both so much. So much time, so much happiness. And all that time, he was carrying it around with him.

She had so much self-loathing for all of the stupid mistakes she'd made, and all of it was crashing down on her now. Jack Malone was the best thing that ever happened to her. He was everything. Her best friend, her lover, her partner, the father of her children, her rock, her salvation. And she knew him. She imagined that he probably saw this as his own retribution: he'd cheated on Maria with her so it was only fitting that she'd cheated on him, with Brian. But that wasn't how it was. It wasn't how she'd meant it to be, any of it. God, how could she have chosen Brian over Jack? There simply was no comparison, and never had been.

She'd felt so very fortunate to have been given a second chance, long after she'd given up any hope of ever having another chance with the only man she knew too late that she'd ever truly loved. It was unbelievable, unfathomable. To be so close to death, to be trapped in regret for the mistakes she'd made and the life she'd thrown away, and then to wake up to him, loving her still, had been all that she'd ever wanted.

She knew, then and now, that she didn't deserve it, didn't deserve him, but it had been so easy to believe him, to let herself fall into the dream she'd always wanted and think that it could become her life. To let _him_ become her life. Him, and the family they'd created together. Feeling it crumbling now hurt more than anything.

ooooo

Jack didn't waste any time. He didn't feel like he had any to waste. His own sense of urgency was choking him, and he felt like he could barely breathe through the pain as he checked into a cheap motel room and unpacked the supplies he'd bought, meager though they were. Running clothes and sneakers was about it, along with a few necessities in the kitchen. Eating wasn't high on his agenda right now. Getting out there and hitting the parks and trails and marinas was.

Even though he was fully dressed, he felt naked without his wedding ring. He hadn't taken it off for three years, and hadn't intended for it to leave his finger until the day he died. Even then. He knew he'd love Samantha Spade Malone forever, and planned on keeping it on that long. He hated himself for the jealousy that hadn't entirely left him, obviously, he thought disgustedly, after that little outburst yesterday. He had told her he understood and he had meant it. Absolutely. But thinking of that time had brought everything back to him in living color.

He'd been eviscerated when Sam had gone back to Brian. He'd tried his best to hide it, had tried to be ready for the blow that he was pretty certain would come, but it hadn't worked. He hadn't been ready. He'd been gutted. And that was poetic justice, wasn't it? He didn't deserve to be happy with Samantha Spade, not when he'd used her to break his own vows. He knew he didn't deserve happiness, and wasn't terribly surprised with the ultimate outcome. There would be no happiness for him. He'd always known that.

And so when he'd heard she was near death, comatose and unresponsive and not expected to come out of it, he hadn't had a choice. He'd had to be there, had to be there for her, there with her, in whatever capacity he could, in whatever capacity he was allowed to be. Samantha was it for him, and always had been. He'd never expected her to come out of it, never expected her to love him again, certainly never expected that she'd never stopped loving him in all that time. It had been too much to hope for. He'd planned merely to be there for her as she lay dying, and it had been too much to hope for to be there for her when she woke and came back to life and began to live again.

And what they'd found together in all the days since... it had been too much to hope for. It had been everything he'd ever wanted and more besides. A chance so few people ever got: the chance to rewrite history, right wrongs, correct mistakes and soothe past regrets. And there had been so many when it had come to her. She'd always been the one for him, as bad as he'd always been at expressing it, at following through with showing her.

But he'd gotten better, hadn't he? And, to be fair, so had she. They'd been so happy together these last three years, and three years wasn't enough for him. He wanted more.

As he lay there in that cold, hard bed, he knew it wouldn't ever be over for him. He would get John Michael back. Anything else wasn't an option. He'd told her that he'd live with whatever she decided, but that wasn't entirely true, was it? He wasn't letting go of her, he vowed to himself in the dark. He wouldn't. Ever. He would make her see that they loved each other too much to let go.

TBC...


	8. Chapter 8

Eight

**A/N:** _Sorry for the delay. Journeyed to the frozen north to see my son graduate from basic training and my laptop did not take kindly to the trip... just now decided to accommodate me again! _

Jack thought that he must have lost twenty pounds in the last two weeks. Since they knew Clea Kirkpatrick was a runner, he had probably traversed every running trail in every park and beach in Miami at various times of the day. The BOLOs had been unsuccessful; it was a safe bet she no longer looked like either herself or Samantha. Sleeping alone for thirteen nights had given him a taste of what the rest of his days were going to be like, and he wasn't looking forward to it. He was, however, looking very much forward to seeing his little man again, as well as his "Bee," and Finn, and of course Kate and Hanna. He knew that he wouldn't ask for anything more than seeing his son again, than seeing the look on his love's face when he brought their boy home. He missed her. He missed the life they'd had together. He missed their kids. Even as she'd told her he wouldn't take the responsibility for this, he did.

One time. One lousy time that he hadn't even enjoyed. It was the only time he had slipped up, and now he was paying the price. He would do anything to take it back.

His existence had become very narrow. He looked for his son, all day, every day. He checked in regularly with the lab, and he knew that they were still working on digging up leads for him to chase down. He had moved cheap motel rooms eight times, shifting to different parts of the city each time. He had had no firm indication that she was still in the area, just a gut feeling. But there was no indication that she had left, either.

The devastation she'd known upon finding him gone had passed, and Samantha was still seething. No matter how mad they had been at each other, no matter what they had said to each other, the last thing she had expected was for him to just take off without a word to her. She thought she could happily shoot him for that alone. The days without seeing him ate at her. She knew he was checking in with the lab because Calleigh told her. She didn't know where he was and what he was doing. She wasn't there to watch his back. That ate at her too.

This was her fault… this distance. The fact that he hadn't called her once. But really, he hadn't given her much of a chance. He had left before dawn the next morning on some self-assigned suicide mission that someone should have _damn well fucking_ said _no_ to! And he hadn't waited to tell her because he knew damn well what she would have said. She was still so fucking angry at him she couldn't see straight. It was a stupid, melodramatic, risky move, even for him, and there were dozens of others they could have taken. And he hadn't waited, hadn't asked her, just said _fuck it_ and gone out on his own. It felt like he'd given up on her—on them, on what was supposed to be their partnership—without ever having given her a chance to make things right, and a part of her found that unforgivable.

She wanted to yell at him, wanted to shake him, knock some sense into him. Wanted to ask him what the _fuck_ he'd been thinking to go out on his own like that and leave her behind, leave her to pick up the pieces and leave her to carry on alone if he didn't ever come back. As much as she needed to know that he was all right, she still wanted to give him a piece of her mind. That he had felt he had had to do something as drastic as this, that he hadn't felt that he could wait for her, trust her with this decision, had cracked her heart irrevocably, and she had spent far too many hours second-guessing herself, asking herself what she had done—or hadn't done—to make him believe that the trust they had was so very tenuous.

Samantha was standing on the Caines' back deck at 3 a.m. staring moodily out at the ocean, the only light the filtered glow that came through the unusually dense clouds tonight from the moon. Sleep was a thing of the past for her now. She caught a few hours here and there, because she had to, but the nightmares were constant now. She couldn't sleep without him now, at all, and she hadn't even bothered tonight. She was waiting out here for the storm to hit, and it was taking too long. She needed something to douse all of these feelings that she was tired of having. She wanted her husband back. She wanted Jack.

Her ears picked up the anomaly before her eyes did, catching the faint sound of the gate opening at the beach, barely-there footsteps on the steps up to the deck alarming her. Damn it, she was unarmed. And then she thought it was probably a good thing, because it was someone who wasn't supposed to be here and the last person she thought it would be. And how in the hell did he do that? He always knew when she needed him. He always had. And for the last three years at least, he had always been here to do something about it. She didn't want to give that up, couldn't even think about it.

He looked different, was the only thought that went through her mind. He didn't look like himself. He was in all black, of course, because he didn't want to be seen because he _wasn't supposed to be here._ The black T-shirt hugged him like a second skin, and the musculature of his chest and arms seemed to stand out as she stared, unsure for a moment. This was her husband, and it wasn't. He wore black running shorts, also unusual for him, and black running shoes she'd never seen. He must have bought it all for his cover, the cover that also involved removing his ring. Calleigh Caine had given it to her, after he'd handed it to her that day in the lab, when he'd done all of this _without consulting her_.

She really hoped all of it was only for the cover and would be remedied when this whole mess was over. His hair looked shaggy, and he hadn't shaved in days. His body looked harder; his face looked especially harder. He looked like that man he'd used to be, a little, though it was more extreme than that. He looked like a completely different person, and although she knew that was kind of the point, it still hurt. Like this, the way things stood, he didn't feel like _hers_ anymore, and she wasn't sure that there was anything that she could do about that. Not this time.

TBC...


	9. Chapter 9

Nine

**A/N:** _An extra chapter tonight, since it's been so long. Verging on M territory here, but nothing too graphic._

Jack stopped at nearly the top of the steps when he caught sight of her for the first time. As badly as he needed to see her, he wouldn't have knocked on the door or gone inside in search of her. He'd been hoping she would be outside, and still he wasn't prepared for seeing her again. He thought he knew her better than anyone in the world, thought she knew him better than anyone as well, and he couldn't begin to guess what was going on in her mind right now. She looked at him warily, almost dispassionately, as if he were a stranger who'd happened up the steps in the middle of the night.

And that pissed him off. He was risking everything by being here, all the work he and the Caines and their colleagues had done so far to bring their son home. All the hours he had thought about her, lying in bed staring at the ceiling with her on his mind, memories of their life together playing on a constant loop in his head. And she was looking at him now as if she didn't know him, and didn't particularly care to. Well, the hell with it. He was still mad at her, too.

And she was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The love he had for her eclipsed everything else he was feeling right now, nearly bringing him to his knees. The compulsion to beg and plead with her, to _make_ her see reason, was so strong that it was nearly impossible to resist. But you didn't _make_ Samantha Malone do anything she didn't want to do. No one could. Not even him. It was one of the things he loved most about her. Most of the time. Right now, not so much. But right now, all he saw was her.

He stalked closer as a fine mist begin to fall, his jaw clenched as she made no move either toward him or away from him. Her eyes lifted to his as he stopped in front of her, her own jaw clenched, her eyes no longer cold, but lit with fiery rage. "Why are you here?" she bit out, her lip curled distastefully.

He knew his own eyes were flashing right now and he didn't care. "I needed to see you," he barked.

"Yeah, you're just a little late for that. The time for that would have been before you did this without a word to me—"

"There wasn't time," he said harshly, uncaring that he'd cut her off.

"Like my opinion didn't matter," she went on, as if he hadn't spoken. "He's my son, too, damn it!"

"Why do you think I'm doing this? I'm going to get him back."

"You're going to get yourself killed. And then—"

"Sam—"

She couldn't hear it. She couldn't listen. She pushed by him forcefully, still too pissed for reason, jogging down the stairs to the beach as the rain begin to fall harder, pelting her in the face. It didn't matter. She needed to get away from him right now, before she did something she would come to regret.

His jaw tight again, he stayed where he stood. Damned if he was going to run after her. She was as stubborn as he was, and if she didn't want to listen, then she wouldn't. It wouldn't make a difference what he said. "Fuck!" he shouted above the sound of the roaring storm that had finally come in, slamming his fist into the stone wall and wincing at the pain. It wasn't an effective outlet, though.

He should just leave. He knew it. Nothing good was going to come of being here right now. If he hadn't been missing her so damn much and hating that he knew damn well she was doing the same thing, still as pissed at him as he was at her, he wouldn't even be here. If he hadn't been right and she'd been sleeping peacefully in the house, he would have turned around and gone home. But he _knew_ her, damn it. He knew she'd be out here, brooding. He wanted this to stop. He didn't want this hanging over their heads. It would color everything. It would affect their work on this case, _their son's case_, and they couldn't afford that. And if it ended badly, she would never forgive herself. He didn't want that for her. For either of them. Closing his eyes, he lifted his face to the sky as the rain began to pour, letting the deluge pound his skin, feeling a little better.

He jogged down the stairs, looking around through the downpour that made visibility pretty much next to nothing. There was a lifeguard stand nearby, though, and it didn't look sturdy enough to withstand the beating his wife was currently giving it. He flexed his still-throbbing hand and snorted, stomping closer to her through the saturated sand, uncaring of the fact that he was soaked to the skin. He hadn't brought anything other than his room key, anyway.

He stalked closer, reaching for her shoulder, uncaring if she elbowed him in the jaw or not. He deserved it. He spun her around roughly. "Take it out on me," he told her just as roughly, clamping his hand around her arm and pulling her close until they were nose to nose. He stood just staring at her, waiting for her blows, needing to take the brunt of her rage so that they could both get this out of their systems, surprised when she stilled instead of lashing out, noting the fury still in her eyes, and then without a word her nails were in his arms and she was kissing him furiously. He didn't hesitate to kiss her back, just as roughly, not bothering to be careful as he dragged her close with his hands on her hips until she was molded to him, her soaked tank and shorts an ineffective barrier.

Samantha knew this was wrong; she just didn't care. She _wanted_ to take it out on him. She wanted to pour this bottomless rage into him, wanted to pound it into him until he knew exactly what she was feeling, exactly what he had done to her. Wanted to feel him pounding into her, wanted to feel the sting of his anger and the bite of his touch punishing her. She deserved it. She moved her mouth down his jaw to his throat, sinking her teeth into his neck as he thrust against her, raising her leg to wrap around his waist, pushing hard against him to let him know in no uncertain terms what she wanted.

Again he didn't hesitate. There was just a second as he freed himself and jerked aside her shorts and then he was inside her, hot and hard, pounding deep just as she'd wanted. He lifted her higher, bracing her against the wet wood structure so he could have better leverage, and she wrapped her other leg around his waist as he thrust deeper, harder, nipping at her neck now, giving her new pain along with the sharp aching pleasure to replace the pain she had grown used to.

Her nails raked down his back through his soaked shirt, and it struck her that she had better not leave marks for _her _to see, and that in turn fueled her fury and drove her to move her mouth from his neck where she was probably also leaving marks and back to his mouth in a harsh, punishing counterpoint to all the kisses they had ever shared until tonight.

He absorbed her fury and gave back with his own, still punishing, still demanding, forcing her over the edge into unwanted ecstasy that she had no right no feel and instantly hated him for even as she felt him thrust again and release himself inside her, his face still close to hers, his chest heaving next to hers as their muscles jerked together. As one. Finally. The rain still fell drastically around them like a curtain. It felt like they were the only two people in the world.

Still holding her tightly, he finally rested his forehead against hers. He had no words for what he'd just done, for what they'd just done, to each other. He only hoped that when all of this was over, this wouldn't be the last time they were together. He knew he would hate himself forever if it was.

It wasn't until he felt her hands on his face for the first time tonight, until he felt her tracing his face blindly and then sliding her fingers around to clasp the back of his neck tightly that he felt his anger recede, even as he felt hers evaporate as well. He let her slide down his body, bringing her feet to the ground, and drew her body carefully into his, not opening his eyes for fear that he'd still see her accusations there, but finding her mouth and kissing her softly, lovingly.

He felt her sigh against his mouth, felt her reticence, and then tasted the love in her kiss. It gave him an intense, sharp relief, and a shot of hope, hope that he hadn't had since they'd gotten that nasty shock at the daycare. For the first time, he actually thought he'd have something to come home to when this was over.

Pulling back finally, even though it wasn't what he wanted, he looked at her one last time, forcing himself to memorize the details of the way she looked, every one of them so precious to him, even tonight, like this, and then backed away slowly through the rain, his eyes on hers. He wanted her to know that she wouldn't see him again until this was over, one way or the other, but he didn't want to say the words. Couldn't say the words.

Samantha watched until he was gone, faded into the rain and the gray fog that had seemed to enshroud them like he'd never been there at all. Looking around, she really couldn't believe they had done this. Outside on the beach for anyone to see. It spoke to their desperation with this whole situation. It wasn't like they could cuddle up in a nice warm bed with their son missing. It wasn't like they could enjoy themselves and put it out of their minds; that was impossible.

She lifted her hand to her face, grimacing at the blood that had welled at her knuckles, moving her tongue around inside of her mouth, tasting blood from the violence of their kisses and not sure if this was something she'd one day wish she could forget.

TBC...


	10. Chapter 10

Ten

**Disclaimer**: Not mine!

"I screwed up, Danny. Okay? Is that what you want to hear? I screwed up. I think we've already established that fact."

Samantha paced the bullpen of the Miami office, a disgruntled Bea on her hip, only about half aware that the agents were watching her warily. They had given them unqualified support, and they had been understanding of the fact that Samantha couldn't just sit at home—at the Caines' home—while her husband and her son were out there, somewhere. Out of professional courtesy they let her hang around, and she'd been splitting her time between here and the Caine's home office.

"Samantha, you know Jack. He thinks everything is his fault on his own. He doesn't need your help."

Samantha gritted her teeth. "Like I said," she ground out, "I realize what I've done, Danny, but thank you for so kindly pointing it out just in case there was any doubt." She was still pacing, her mind racing even as her eyes took in what she saw as she rounded the agents' desks for about the 87th time.

Thomas Jeridan reminded her a little of her husband. He shared his dark good looks, but that was about it, if his desk photos of his family were anything to go by. He spent too much time being a husband and a dad to ever even think of becoming a supervisory special agent, and she could relate. Even while getting a tongue lashing from Danny long distance, her eyes fell to his desk calendar, the events handwritten into the big squares labeled with a different color for each family member.

She stared, suddenly tuning Danny out, looking up into her daughter's eyes as it hit her. Her spontaneous delighted laughter made her little girl laugh as well. "Danny!" she all but shouted into the phone, stopping his tirade aimed at her obvious failings as a wife. "Danny, can we continue this as—this butt-chewing at a later date and time? Because right now I want to know how Clea knew we were going to be here, in Miami, at the right place and the right time."

In New York, Danny's mind was already at work. "Hey," he yelled at Martin, his excitement palpable. "Travel agents. Yesterday."

The agents looked at her as she hung up the phone. The wheels were already spinning as they looked at each other. "None of her known aliases got any hits," Jacinda Ruiz stated.

"If we find the travel agent that gave out our info, we'll know the alias she was using," Samantha said, hope now coloring her features where moments before had been only self-loathing for sending her husband so thoughtlessly into an impossible, even deadly, situation, even though it was the last thing in the world she'd intended to do at the time.

"It could give us the name she's using here," said the team leader, Tabitha Miles.

"As well as a timeline of how long she's been planning this, how entrenched she is in the community, when she would have been looking for a job and a place to live," Jeridan said.

Samantha already had her phone out. "I booked the trip on March 28th," she said quickly, making the others look at her sharply. "What? We have five kids. I've gotta be organized or I wouldn't get anything done."

And then all the blood drained from her face. Quickly, before her legs gave out, she put Bea in her stroller, grabbing a banana to appease the little girl's vocal displeasure at being set down. She sat down hard in the closest rolling chair as comprehension dawned. _Fuck._ Damn it, her husband had been right, just not in the right department. It _was_ her fault.

She looked up to meet the worried eyes of the agents who were now staring at her. "My phone was… I lost my phone. I got a replacement. All of our information was on there. All the details of the trip, personal details, phone numbers… this _is_ all my fault."

"Hey," Agent Miles said fiercely, wanting to snap her out of it. "You couldn't have known. You didn't even know if her existence at the time. She had to be following you, stalking you to get your phone. Where did you lose it?" Samantha looked up, her mind suddenly a blank. "Where, Samantha? Think!"

She got up to pace again, bringing that day back to her mind, with effort. She had been at the mall, with Bea and John Michael. The phone had been on the tray in the stroller, right next to the changing room where she'd been trying on clothes, the kids inside with her. It had been a long day and they were fussy; Bea had thrown up all over the dress she had been trying on. She'd been so preoccupied in dealing with that that she had grabbed up the clothes and the kids and hurried to pay, anxious to get her sick baby home. That had been the last time she'd seen her phone. She hadn't thought anything of it. She'd called and gotten another phone the next day, and hadn't thought of it again. Oh, God… _Jack_.

He'd been right. This was all her fault. She saw him in her mind that last day. He'd been so angry at her, so fierce, and yet so adamant that they work it out, together. She'd been the one to falter. Again. To fail him. Again. If she ever saw him again, she was the one who would be offering him his freedom. From her. Because he sure as hell deserved it. And she didn't deserve him, any of it.

Damn it, she was going to get him back. She was going to get them both back. For the first time in this whole ordeal, her mind suddenly focused. She _would_ get them back. She looked up at Tabitha Miles. "Macy's. May 2nd."

And then she was on the phone again. "Danny? Pull the video from Macy's, the one closest to the office. May 2nd. My phone was taken off the stroller next to the women's dressing rooms. Around… 6:30 p.m. We may have her face on that video."

She stared up at the wall, at the picture tacked up there, at the woman who had tried her best to make herself look like her. The woman who was trying to take everything she loved from her: her son, her husband, her entire life. Her face hardened, and she was suddenly filled with resolve. That _wasn't_ going to happen.

No matter what the future held for her husband, herself, and their family, it was going to be _their_ choice. Not this woman's. In that moment she vowed it, both to herself and her family, and there was no going back.

That bitch had her family, damn it. And she was coming for them.

TBC...


	11. Chapter 11

Eleven

Time stopped. The world stood still. Even with so much time to prepare, Jack wasn't prepared for this moment. His boy was here, safe, healthy and happy, jabbering away a hundred miles a minute to the woman at his side holding his hand as they ate ice cream and watched the boats in the marina. Jack smiled, just watching him, drinking him in. It had been sixteen days, and somehow his boy looked grown up now, after so much time had passed. A lifetime. God, he felt like he had aged a lifetime in the time he'd been gone.

And the woman looked nothing like Samantha now. She had dark red hair cut short and sassy, and she wore shorts and a tank top, while John Michael had on a red T-shirt and blue swim trunks. His favorite Spiderman sneakers were on his feet, the ones with the lights, and from where he was Jack could see the marks from where the kid had gotten hold of a Sharpie marker and tried to write his name.

Oh, God. _John Michael_. His eyes filled with tears. He hadn't thought he would actually find him so soon.

He was frozen, unmoving in the sea of people, just staring, unaware of anything else but his son… his beautiful, precious, precocious son. Nothing else mattered right now.

It was a rookie mistake, and one that he would pay for, because it was already too late when he realized that he'd been spotted. By his own way too smart for his own good son. "DADDY! DADDY! YOU CAME!" the little wild man was hollering, and by the time he snapped to it, her eyes were on his, cold, hard and full of murder.

She looked around quickly, noticing that too many people had begun to notice, most of them smiling at the adorable little boy. She just looked at him, waiting to see what he was going to do, and Jack saw her hand go into her bag. He had no idea what she had in there, and he wasn't waiting around to find out.

He grinned and crossed the path to where they were, trying his best to keep his body language cordial, nonthreatening, being sure to raise his left hand so that she would see the absence of his wedding ring. In the two weeks that he'd been searching constantly in the heat of summer in South Florida, that white band of skin had begun to tan, and he was hoping it would help to sell his story. And as he took the last steps that would bring him to their sides, he vowed that as soon as this was over and he had his son safely back home where he belonged, that ring would go back on his finger where it belonged. Wife or no wife.

Clea held tightly to the boy's hand, and Jack leaned down to hug his son, who was jumping up and down with glee. "You came, Daddy! You came! I knew you'd come!" He looked up at the woman who'd told him she was his aunt, and that she'd take him to see him parents. "See? Daddy's here, Aunt Charlie!"

"Hello, Clea," Jack said quietly, carefully, not letting go of his son's hand as he straightened. He still wasn't sure how he wanted to play this, but he thought his original plan was still his best bet. Gain her trust and then get the boy away while she was gone or sleeping. It was so hard not to just grab his boy and start running, but he had no backup, and he was pretty sure she'd shoot him in the back, witnesses or no witnesses. He had no idea what that would mean for his son, but it wasn't a risk he was willing to take.

"Daddy, it's Charlie, not Clea," John Michael said. Jack smiled at his son, nodding.

"Okay, son. I guessed I goofed. Charlie it is." Looking up into her eyes, he realized that she was flustered. She still had her hand in her bag, but she seemed torn. She seemed almost in a trance, staring at him like he was something that might come on a dessert cart covered in chocolate. Seeing his opening, he let his eyes soften and drift slowly over her body and then back up. He did remember her. He'd been drunk, but not that drunk. She was looking at him now just like she'd looked at him that night.

He looked straight into her eyes, seeing the wariness there, the disbelief, but also the hope. Knowing her history as he now did, he almost felt bad for her. She had had a crappy life, and her long fruitful career as a grifter had fulfilled both her material needs and her psychological ones. He didn't blame her. Life really sucked sometimes. He imagined it could feel really good just to create a whole new life for yourself, and get lost in it.

He shamelessly played on the hope. As John Michael turned to look at the boats again, still holding tightly onto both of their hands, he kept looking into her eyes, letting himself fall into her world, become what she'd wanted him to be. "You were right," he said quietly, "but I had to find out the hard way. She left me," he said, holding up his left hand, as if it could testify to the 'truth' he hoped she saw in his eyes. "She can't forgive me for the night we had together, for what we shared."

He watched, barely able to breathe, as the woman's eyes widened. "You… you told her?" She hadn't thought he ever would. She'd thought she would be his dirty little secret forever.

"Well, I kind of had to, when you picked up our son." But he kept his voice calm, nonthreatening, as if it had been the most logical thing in the world for her to do.

"I'm sorry if I scared you," she said quietly, earnestly, moving closer to him, as if they were still lovers, as if they were spouses who'd had a minor disagreement. "I never meant to scare you. I took very good care of him. I loved him as if he were my own son. I always will. I hope you know that. I just wanted him close. I knew you'd come for him, and then we could be a family."

He nodded. "I've been looking for you for so long. I didn't know how to find you."

She smiled at him coquettishly. "I knew you'd find me. You always do."

_Him!_ his mind shouted. I _found _my son! _Not you_! But he kept his face calm, pleasant, his smile gentle. "I always will. You were right all along. We should have been together; we should have been a family. But we're together now."

She smiled at him again, shyly. "We're going to go get some lunch after we see the boats. Would you like to join us?" He noticed her eyes fall to his chest, and then to his arms left mostly bare by the short-sleeved T-shirt, obviously liking what she saw. His skin crawled, and he forced himself to maintain a calm façade he didn't feel at all.

He smiled at her again, stepping a little closer, watching her carefully to make sure he wasn't spooking her. "I'd like that," he said softly, wistfully, trying to channel a man in love, trying to picture what he would say and how he would say it if he ever got another chance with his wife. He let his eyes drift placidly from her face to his son's, calling gleefully to the boats, and then his face softened of its own accord as it always did.

Clea's eyes went to the boy as well, Jack saw out of the corner of his eye. Her countenance softened further as well, her eyes welling with what he would be willing to testify in court was sincere love. She looked back at him and that love still shone in her eyes. "He's such a wonderful child," she breathed in awe, in reverence. "He's just so much like you. Everything about him, down to his speech, his curiosity, his mannerisms. He's just so… you!" She grinned happily. "How could I not love him completely?"

He smiled lovingly, reaching gently for her hand, taking it in his, as his insides quaked with revulsion and her eyes widened, almost in rapture. And if he hadn't known it already, he would have been just figuring out that this woman wasn't playing with a full deck. She was nowhere near sane. He would have to be very, very careful not to slip up. _Come on, Sam,_ he told her in his head. _I know exactly how good you are. Find us, quickly. _In the meantime, he would do everything he could to keep himself and their son alive.

TBC…


	12. Chapter 12

Twelve

**Disclaimer:** Not mine

Days had passed since she'd seen him, since he'd come to her in the dead of night in the rain, and there were times she wasn't sure if she'd imagined him altogether. It seemed he was making more progress in finding out where John Michael was not than where he was. Not for the first time, or even the hundredth, Samantha wished they had kicked around ideas before he'd done this. She wondered if he remembered to check the Burger Kings with the play areas; those were his favorites. She wondered if he remembered the boats; her son's interests had changed recently, and his infatuation with trains had inexplicably shifted to boats. Surely he did...

They had spent hours upon hours watching boats while they were here in Miami, from pleasure boats to sailboats to enormous tankers to remote controlled boats, and she wished she could call Jack right now and asked him if he'd been checking places with boats. They had always worked well together, always sparked each other, bounced ideas off of each other, and she had never felt more keenly the fact that he'd been behind a desk and not out in the field for a while now. She knew that his instincts were as sharp as they ever were, but knowing he was out there without backup had her constantly on edge. She knew she wouldn't be able to relax until she had him back.

She hadn't called her mother and her sister; there was no point. She talked to Kate and Hanna daily, and just hearing their voices imbued her with hope and strength. They weren't giving up, and when her own faith and hope were flagging, they never failed to keep her going. She needed every bit of help she could get. She needed to be strong, to be positive, to keep up a cheerful front for Finn and Bea when all she wanted to do was curl up in the corner and cry. Or, better yet, arm herself to the teeth and go out and find them herself. She didn't like being left behind like this. She needed to be out there doing something. Anything.

ooooo

They settled into a tentative routine. After the time they had spent together that first day, Jack had turned to leave once seeing them safely to her little house, asking hopefully if he could call on them tomorrow. He was beyond surprised when Clea had blushed and told him he was welcome to spend the night, on the couch, of course, because she wasn't _that_ kind of girl.

_Which_ kind? He'd wanted to ask. The kind who indulged in one-night-stands? Which he already knew from experience she was? Or the kind to kidnap and maybe kill when she didn't get what she wanted? Without any statute of limitations. Because, damn, it had been _years_. Luckily for him and his team, only a handful of criminals they had encountered in his career had the patience this woman possessed in spades. He had to remind himself that she wasn't anywhere near sane, and force himself to keep those thoughts inside. To make sure they didn't show on his face.

Nodding as if he understood completely, he had thanked her and camped out on her sofa, not daring to sleep because he couldn't trust what she would do to him if he did. As well as constantly watching for the moment she would let down her guard and leave him alone with John Michael. Of course it hadn't happened yet. In three days she hadn't left the boy's side for a moment. Even to sleep, which made him shudder even though he was utterly relieved when she'd let slip that she was glad the bedroom was large enough to fit his race car bed adjacent to hers. What he had seen left him reassured, as reassured, at least, as he could possibly be in the current situation.

She doted on John Michael, seemed to genuinely care for him. He thought she thought she loved him dearly. She treated him with warmth and affection, seeming genuinely delighted when she saw evidence of his sharp mind or the intense focus he brought to everything he did. Jack had found himself holding his breath more than once, sure that his rambunctious boy had just earned himself a smack for his smart little mouth, and had tried to steel himself for that eventuality, but the explosions he had waited for had never come. She never spanked him, never laid a finger on him at all. And he'd checked unobtrusively the same day he'd found them; there wasn't a mark on him.

This would be the third night he had spent here, and as he was stretching out on the couch, he was startled to see Clea appear in the doorway to her bedroom, a demure robe over her pajamas. _Shit_. Now what in the hell was he going to do?

Every time he inadvertently touched her he felt repulsed. Dirty. Now he couldn't believe that he had actually slept with her. Even once, when he'd been deep into both a bottle of Jack and his own self-loathing. He wasn't the least bit attracted to her now. He couldn't see how he ever could have been. She wasn't Samantha. But then, no one was.

But if he had to do this, he would. He could sleep in the same bed with her, couldn't he? Surely she wouldn't want to have sex in the same room the boy was in? He swallowed down his own revulsion and walked toward her, trying fiercely not to look like a man on his way to a firing squad. That was the way he felt right now, but he couldn't let her see it. Couldn't let John Michael down. That was the bottom line here. Nothing else mattered. He would do what he had to do to get his son out of this alive.

Whatever he had to do.

ooooo

Martin's voice on the phone was reassuring. At least he wasn't beating her up for this like Danny was. "We found the father of her child, Samantha. It wasn't easy. These people don't advertise in the yellow pages. He's a merc for hire, did a lot of work with Clea in the old days, was actually in a crew with her for a while, before she struck out on her own. We know a lot more about her now. This guy was a treasure trove of intel."

Samantha sat back in the chair in Calleigh and Horatio's home office. Thank God. She'd needed some good news today. Not hearing from Jack after he'd gone dark was driving her crazy. The guys at the lab were still keeping track of him, but that didn't make her feel any better. She needed him and John Michael home.

"Well?" she prodded anxiously. "What have we got?"

"We were right about her childhood. Short and violent. Mother left when she was a baby, father abused her even as he taught her everything he knew. Petty thief who was sent to prison when she was 12, eventually died there. She was on the streets after that, eventually hooked up with a crew and then left for another, more successful and highly skilled organization. This guy Walker Powers met her there, and they had a son, played house for a while. They pissed off the wrong people and someone was sent to take out Clea and Powers, got the kid instead but Clea survived, disappeared, struck out on her own. This was the first he'd heard of her in twenty years. She's a stone cold killer, Samantha. No remorse."

Samantha was still scanning pictures and disguises of the woman on the Caines' computer. "Good news is, Powers thinks that was probably the only time she was even remotely close to happy, so she's probably trying to recreate that time in her life, with Jack and John Michael. Her lost lover and son."

"She won't kill Jack if he goes along with what she wants," she murmured. He would have already figured that out by now. And she was already so tired of these images in her mind. Jack was a pro. He would do what he had to do to get their son back. Her asinine statements to him haunted her now. _Just get through this_, she told herself, _and then you can make everything right. I won't ever be lost to you,_ she told him fiercely in her mind, hoping he knew. Because she wasn't ever letting him go.

TBC...


	13. Chapter 13

Thirteen

**Disclaimer:** _WaT and CSIM characters are not mine. _

Samantha Malone sat with her son and her daughter on the Caine family's back deck, staring out into the ocean but not seeing it. After so many days of waiting, it seemed that things had begun to move very quickly today, after her brainstorm and the subsequent revelation about her phone. And it was a good thing, because Jack hadn't called the lab to check in in three days. Which meant either he was dead or he had found her, and had talked his way into her life. She prayed it was the latter, as she watched their kids play happily with the Caine children. She had no idea what she'd tell Bea if her daddy and her brother never came home.

And she couldn't afford to think like that. He needed her to stay strong, and believe in him, and she did. She _did._ How many times had he pulled off some incredible case that no one else could? How many times had he gone undercover or gotten deep into some monster's head to save someone? Too many, and the stakes had never been higher for them than they were right now. He would do this. He had to. The alternative was unthinkable.

A part of her painted a picture of him with her right now, sharing her bed, seducing her to gain her trust, and she fought the sudden urge to vomit. He'll do what he has to do, she told herself, and it won't be anything but that. She knew that. She _did._ She couldn't fault him for that. She _wouldn't._ She couldn't even fault him for a one night stand after she'd gone back to Brian. She just couldn't. It wouldn't be fair.

After all, she'd done the exact same thing. Brian was the result of her own jealousy and her inability to face the fact that he had moved on with someone that wasn't her. She'd been devastated and hurt, and had wanted something—anything—to distract her from the pain. She hadn't forgotten what that felt like; how could she? She didn't think she ever would, and she owed him an apology for the way she'd acted when she'd found out. He didn't deserve that and she just hoped that wherever he was right now, he knew that she hadn't meant it, that she was waiting for him, that she loved him as much as she always had.

He knew. He had to. Carefully she extracted the letter he'd left for her on the pillow in the Caine family's guest room. She still couldn't believe he had stayed there one night, and then had gone. Without talking to her. Without taking the time to plan it out. And she couldn't believe she had actually let him leave without her, that she didn't come after him, that she let him spend the night here, alone. Thinking they were over. Thinking that he had to do this, because this was his fault. She unfolded it carefully, re-reading it for probably the millionth time since she'd found it.

_Please don't give up on me. I'm not giving up. I'll bring him back to you. I won't stop until he's found. __I love you._

Her tears fell unchecked and she held the paper out to keep from ruining it. Her beautiful little girl ran up to her and clasped her face with sticky hands, making her laugh against her will though her tears that still fell. "Mommy sad?" she asked with a comically sad face.

Samantha laughed and kissed her as Bea wiped away her tears lovingly. "Mommy's okay, sweetie. I just miss your daddy and your brother, that's all."

"Home soon?" she asked, and grinned when her mother nodded. "Home soon," she said reassuringly, patting her mother's cheeks. Samantha laughed again.

"Yes, love, they'll be home soon." _From your lips to God's ear, baby,_ she thought. _Please._

She looked up when Calleigh Caine came out of the house and moved to sit in the lounge chair next to her, growing immediately alarmed at her wet face and red eyes. "Has something happened?"

Samantha smiled. "Nothing new. Just re-reading," she said sadly, holding out the note. Twenty five words. All the years they'd known each other, all the years they'd loved each other and it all came down to twenty five words.

Calleigh looked at the folded paper, and back at her friend. "May I?" she asked softly, and Samantha shrugged, handing it to her. Calleigh read the short note, and smiled. "This doesn't sound to me like it's over," she said thoughtfully.

Samantha looked up at the woman who had been so kind of her in this, their darkest hour. And they'd had a _lot _of dark hours. Her eyes were bleak. "I was so awful to him, Calleigh," she said quietly. "I can't forgive myself for the things I said to him. How could he?"

"He loves you. Anyone can see that. You two have been through so much together. You'll make it through this too. Don't let it split you up. Don't let her win." She looked into her friend's face. "You aren't still hung up on that one night, are you?" Her tone was only mildly scolding. Samantha thought she deserved much worse.

"No. How can I be? I did the same damn thing. What was I thinking?" she groaned, burying her face in her hands. "If anything happens to him because of my own stupidity…" She couldn't say the words. She couldn't even bear to think them. And he was probably with her right now, going through God knew what, for their son and for her and for their family. She knew he was downright scary undercover, and it was the only reason she wasn't completely falling apart right now. He _could _do this.

He _would_. They may be getting through this separately right now, but they were still together. They'd be together again. One way or another, they would be together again. Because she wasn't letting him go. Not now, not ever.

When she lifted her head to look at Calleigh again, her resolve was back. "We have to get him back," she told her new friend and ally fiercely. "I can't live without him, and I'm sure as hell not letting her win. I want my family back."

Calleigh Caine smiled and squeezed her hand. "That's more like it."

TBC...


	14. Chapter 14

Fourteen

**Disclaimer:**_ Not mine_

After inviting him into her bed, Jack was relieved when Clea was happy to lie facing him and talk. He realized that in her mind they were already together, much as if the intervening years since he'd met her had never happened. A ball of dread grew in his stomach as he realized that there was no way in hell she was ever going to serve time for this. She would never be judged sane. He watched her as she spoke animatedly about her plans for their future, ever so often punctuating her thought by running her fingers through his hair or down his chest, and each time he fought to hold back his shudder. It was becoming increasingly difficult to stay calm and be here when all he wanted was to lash out at her and get his son and leave. He didn't think it would be that easy, however. She was too crafty, too paranoid, and he doubted she would even be here in bed without protection.

She wanted to stay here, he realized as she went on happily, talking about schools and parks and places to take John Michael to see the boats he loved so much. She obviously thought that the heat was off of her and she was free and clear. "Could I go visit my daughters sometime?" he asked quietly, unsure of why he did it. Maybe he wanted her to see how much she was asking him to give up. Not that he was actually going to give any of it up, but he would stay with her until he could find a way to get his son away from her safely.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "No. Maybe the older ones, but not Beatrice. She's too much like _her_. I'm afraid she's dead to you now."

He didn't say a word. The dangerous glint in her eyes was making him nervous. She seemed so precariously balanced right now, it was like he could literally see her taking a nosedive into insanity. "I could get her if you want. Pay that bitch ex of yours a little visit."

The panic that rose nearly choked him, and he fought to hide his reaction. "No, that's okay. The three of us will be perfect." And somehow he fucked up, because she saw through it, and he knew it instantly because just that quickly his act was blown. Understanding dawned in her eyes, and almost before he knew what was happening, she had pulled the taser he hadn't known she had out of someplace, and he knew that this was going to hurt. A lot.

_Hurry, Sam, hurry,_ he thought desperately as the world went black.

ooooo

The phone rang and Calleigh answered it. Samantha watched her face, terrified of the look she was waiting to see, and hoping she wouldn't. Calleigh looked up quickly and shook her head. Samantha let out the breath she'd been holding. She watched Calleigh listening, her face not changing, nodding. "Thanks, Ryan. I'll talk to them and call you back." She hung up the phone and turned to Samantha. "Jack hasn't moved from his exact position in over eight hours." She lunged to grab the other woman's arm before she could walk out the door, probably straight to the lab to demand his location, Calleigh thought. She knew she'd be the same if it were her husband.

"Wait. We don't know that he's dead, Sam. We don't," she insisted when the woman started to protest. "Most likely, she became distrustful of him for some reason and locked him down. We need to talk about our next move. I want you involved, Horatio, your people and my people. We'll need to go in soon and get him out of there, but there's a chance there that I don't really want to take with your son." Or your husband, went unsaid. They might be his best chance at this point. But that possibly meant going in hot.

"Let me stake out the area first. Get an idea of her schedule. See if she's coming and going regularly."

Calleigh looked at her, knowing she shouldn't be the one to do it. Only one of them should be in the line of fire at a time. She and Horatio had discussed this for themselves plenty of times. One of them needed to survive, for their kids, no matter how bad things got. She was sure Samantha and Jack had probably had a conversation or two about it as well. Samantha rolled her eyes, knowing exactly where her thoughts were going. "I'm not planning on sacrificing myself, Calleigh, just getting us some information, and then we can make the decision." The look on her face said she was going with or without permission, and Calleigh sighed. Why was nothing easy?

"Let's get everyone together first, and then you can propose it. But if we're doing this, we're doing this right. You have two more kids that don't need to grow up as orphans," she said pointedly, knowing her friend needed to hear it right now.

Sam sighed. "Fine."

ooooo

Clea left the house early, making sure that John Michael was still sleeping soundly. She knew she'd be back before he awakened, but they'd run out of milk and his favorite cereal. She wanted to have it for him when he woke up, as well as some fresh strawberries to go with it. He loved strawberries, she thought with a fond smile. Since her list was short today, she was on total alert, scanning her surroundings constantly, and she spotted Samantha Spade—Samantha Malone, she thought darkly—in the checkout line just as she was walking out the door with her bags, not even needing a cart today. The woman was probably genuinely getting groceries, she thought with glee, immediately tamping down her suspicions. She was paying no attention to her surroundings, and had no clue Clea was there in the store with her. Some hot-shot FBI agent she was, she thought smugly.

But this was perfect. It really was. She couldn't have done better if she'd planned it this way. She stashed the bags in her car and came out to lie in wait with her gun and her phone ready, the camera already activated. She would end this bitch now and have the proof to show Jack that his bitch was dead and he could stop hoping to go back to her. Then maybe he would let them be happy together, the way they were meant to be. She hadn't given up on him yet. She knew she could make him see the ways things were supposed to be, no matter how long it took.

Sam knew the moment she was spotted. It didn't bother her. She knew Clea was comfortable that this was a coincidence, just as she could feel the woman waiting outside for her, even as she couldn't see her. She wasn't worried about her getting away. They had the parking lot under surveillance; she would be followed back to her lair no matter when she left. But Sam knew the woman was lying in wait for her to leave the store; she could feel it in her bones. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves or, more accurately, to steady her temper—_don't kill her, don't kill her_— and pushed her cart out of the store.

Clea smiled from her vantage point around the corner in the alley near the store. This was too perfect. The bitch had played right into her hands. Her rental car was parked away from the store and all of the few other cars in the lot, very close to where she was waiting. As the woman exited the store and moved closer with her cart, her attention on her phone and not on her surroundings, Clea surveyed her surroundings once again, satisfied that there were no witnesses around and that her subtle shift of the security camera would insure that they weren't caught on film, and stepped out of the early morning shadows. "Hello, Samantha," she said with a feral grin.

"Hello, Samantha," she heard, and she schooled her features carefully as her finger pressed record on her phone, looking up at the woman in front of her with a well-rehearsed blank look of shock. She gasped in fear, looking around quickly, forcing her face to blanch in terror when she saw no one to call for help and the gun in the woman's hands. She had come unarmed, had argued for it, because she felt it was necessary in case the woman took her. A weapon would refute her story. And while anyone who knew her would know instantly that this was an act, that there was no way in hell she'd ever allow herself to be this vulnerable, this woman didn't know her, and she both despised and disdained her. Thought herself smarter and more deserving than Samantha was. It wouldn't be a stretch for her to believe she got the jump on her.

"Oh my God," she whispered. "It's _you_."She really didn't have to fake the shudder that passed through her body, even though its origins were repulsion and not fear as the woman supposed. No matter. Her act was bought, hook, line and sinker, and that's all that mattered. "I thought you'd be long gone by now."

Clea's self-satisfied smile never left her face. "Now why would I do that? I like it here. It's not like I have anything to worry about. You were never going to find me, unless I let you," she sneered, "like I did today. I wanted to look you in the eye and tell you what a fool you were, for letting your man go." She watched the bitch's eye widen and chuckled. "Although, really, your loss is my gain. He really is quite talented, _if _you know what I mean." Her lewd chuckle made Samantha's blood boil, and it was an extreme exercise in will-power not to leap over the shopping cart and wrap her hand around Clea's throat.

"Patience," came Horatio Caine's voice low in her ear. It was all he said, and all she needed to hear. Somehow, that cool, calm baritone calmed her immensely. She knew he and Calleigh were there in the bushes, watching her back, and the knowledge gave her confidence to proceed.

"You are welcome to him," Samantha heard herself say."Why would I want him? He cheated on me, with you."

Suddenly Clea was seething with rage on his behalf. She knew of course why he'd been in that bar on that night in the first place; he'd been just drunk and morose enough to tell her. She pointed her gun at the bitch's head in a red haze of fury. "You fucking bitch! He never cheated on you! He was only with me because you went back to your boy toy and you know it! And he still took you back, gave you the best years of your life, gave you two beautiful children that you don't deserve to have. You don't deserve him, and he's mine now. As well as your beautiful son."

And then Clea made the first uncalculated move since she'd started this whole thing, because she couldn't help it. It was _for him_. She raised her gun, pulling the trigger twice, deadly and silent, raising her iPhone in her left hand to capture the shock in the bitch's eyes as the two red holes in her chest began to bloom and spread beautifully. The white-hot fury that had her hands shaking right now altered her trajectory, but this result was fine with her. It would just take her a little longer to die. Great. More time for the bitch to suffer.

Grinning widely as the bitch fell against the cart and it rolled lackadaisically away from her, leaving her to fall weakly and helplessly to her knees, Clea whistled merrily as she pocketed the gun, saved the photos, and drove calmly back to the house, happy with this very satisfying latest turn of events.

TBC...


	15. Chapter 15

Fifteen

It was pure torture to have to wait until the car left the lot to go to Samantha. Even knowing they'd caught the whole exchange on film didn't make it any better. They had to know if she was all right. She'd been outfitted with Kevlar and blood packs just in case, but the long moments still galled. Horatio squeezed his wife's hand they got the call that Eric and Ryan had picked up her car and were in careful pursuit. "Samantha, how're you doing?" Horatio murmured as they hurried out of hiding and across the street.

"I'm fine," she said irritably, but the pain in her voice belied that blithe claim. Calleigh looked at her husband and rolled her eyes. Like she hadn't ever heard _that_ before. Horatio just grinned. He'd heard it, too. He thought Samantha Malone could be his wife's long-lost twin, as he'd joked last night in their bedroom. She just smirked at him, and then they were at Samantha's side, rolling her over carefully, and Calleigh quickly pulled up her shirt to see that one of the shots—the one over her heart—had been caught by the thin vest. The other had grazed her unprotected shoulder, and the blood from that wound was very real.

"Damn it, Samantha," Calleigh groused, as she balled up the shirt and used it to provide direct pressure while Horatio attempted to call for an ambulance, even as Samantha told him not to bother, she didn't need it, and she wasn't riding in it. "Jack is going to kill us."

Samantha just smiled smugly. Adrenaline had already kicked in, and she was ready for war. "Screw that," she said fiercely, already on her feet and striding to the car, really wishing she could have just shot her and ended this whole thing. "Let's go get that bitch."

Calleigh was starting to see Horatio's point about her own stubbornness whenever she was injured as her eyes tracked an irate agitated Samantha Malone around the tiny ER enclosure where she was currently working on pacing a trail in the tile floor. She was fully dressed in the clothes Horatio and Calleigh's son had brought her from the house, her clean "scratch" bandaged and no doubt hurting like a bitch since she'd refused her pain meds. It was clear her temper was at full bore. Finally Calleigh rose to her feet and stopped her friend's frenetic pacing with a gentle hand on her arm. "Hey, we've got her. They're waiting for the right moment to go in. You know that. Calm down."

Samantha's eyes turned to her friend, filling with tears. "Please, Cal, I need to be there. Please take me out of here."

Calleigh sighed. It wasn't like she didn't know the feeling. "Okay. Let's get you signed out and we'll go. But you're not charging in there half-cocked until we get the okay from the team." They had called Tabitha Miles from the FBI, and together with her own team, they were planning to go in hot and get Samantha's guys out of there. They had been able to establish visibility with the boy, if not with Jack Malone, and they knew from what they could hear that he was probably in the basement being tortured as they spoke. Every moment that they waited was pure hell for the man's wife; Calleigh could see that. But she'd already gotten herself shot; it wouldn't help to go in and get them all killed.

Samantha nodded her understanding. "Promise me," Calleigh insisted, and Samantha sighed.

"Fine. I promise." Damn it.

ooooo

Jack knew it was night because Clea hadn't come back in hours. He figured she was putting Finn to bed and had gone to bed herself. He couldn't sleep. He didn't dare. He needed to be awake and alert for the moment of his rescue. He knew the plan; after he missed a check in they'd locate him via GPS, that was if any of them were even left working, and then they'd wait until he remained stationary for a matter of hours. Then they'd know they had to come in for him. It wasn't what anyone wanted, because John Michael could be injured in a shootout. But right now he knew that the only way he was getting out of this alive was for them to come in and get him. Clea had thought of everything; he was locked down tight, and there was no way he was getting himself out of this one.

He must have dozed off, because he was startled awake by the noise Clea made when she came down the stairs. She was ebullient, fairly glowing with joy, dancing over to him with her phone in hand, a picture ready on the screen. "I have a gift for you, my love," she said sweetly, ignoring the fact that he was bound and bloody, addressing him as if she were merely his loving wife coming home from work. "I present to you your loving wife… no need for a divorce now," she sneered, thrusting the phone in his face.

His heart simply stopped at the sight of Sam, _his Sam_, her eyes wide with shock, her mouth open with it, and those two obscene spots of red. He wasn't able to school his features; it was too unexpected, and he knew that the pained sound that escaped his lips gave him away. The pain was so intense he thought he'd pass out from its intensity. And then he looked up at Clea, the fury in her eyes telling him the gig was up. She could see just how much this hurt, and when she lit into him again in a rage, he didn't bother to hold back, howling his anguish to the skies. Not for himself, but for Sam. _Sam. No! Not his Sam. Not Sam._ She was his life. She couldn't be gone, because he couldn't live without her.

In the car, Eric and Ryan waited outside the house for their orders. Samantha Malone's stubbornness had come in handy. They had lost the signal hours ago and though they'd had a last known location, this had worked perfectly. The woman had led them straight to the house. Now they looked at each other grimly. They could hear Jack screaming, and it was coming from the basement. It was enough for a warrant, and Ryan called it in while Eric called Horatio. They had just run out of time.

TBC...


End file.
